


Inadvertent Allies

by EnovonsAngel93



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill Denbrough has a Hero Complex, Crazy Henry Bowers, Creepy Patrick Hockstetter, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Ejaculation, Forced Orgasm, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Non-Consensual Touching, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Possessive Henry Bowers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ratings: R, Richie Tozier's Trashmouth, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Slut Shaming, Stockholm Syndrome, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-21 01:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30013668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnovonsAngel93/pseuds/EnovonsAngel93
Summary: Some bullies grow out of their ways as they get older. Others only get worse. Nothing like a little kidnapping to bring an infamous redhead and Derry's resident Trashmouth closer than ever
Relationships: Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Henry Bowers/Beverly Marsh, Patrick Hockstetter/Beverly Marsh, Victor Criss/Beverly Marsh
Kudos: 4





	1. Target Acquired

As much as he was a menace, Beverly Marsh's father was also incredibly oblivious. She had made a habit of deceiving him whenever she wanted to get away, which was pretty much every single day. After school she'd come home to their shared apartment and concoct a sweet little story about her wanting to go over to one of her female classmates' houses. She was sure to play up the girly-angle, going into detail about how she and the other girls would braid each other's hair, watch romantic movies, do each other's nails, or something to that effect. She had no such girlfriends, she had no friends at all, but her father would never know. He'd get that slightly-dreamy look on his face, murmur, 'oh yeah?' in response to her tales, and let her go traipsing out of the house on her bike. 

Did she feel bad about lying to him? Absolutely not. Were she to linger around the apartment in the evenings, she would be subjected to his increasingly lecherous behavior. He'd never done more than force kisses and hugs on her, but she was afraid that if she stayed around him for too long he'd eventually go too far. 

  
She shuddered. 

  
Some of the places she did go weren't much better than home. There were fun places like the bookstore, the library, and the park, but she was susceptible to being harassed by the various jerks of Derry--the Bowers Gang, Greta Keene and her friends, and random adults in the mood to bother her.   
Beverly usually ended up in the junkyard. 

  
She would stay out just long enough for her dad to fall into a beer-induced slumber, then she would hop onto her bike and go back home. 

  
Sometimes Henry and his gang would come over, but she was always sure to avoid them in her special hiding spot. It was several feet away from their designated hangout spot, which happened to be a three-legged wooden table with four lawn chairs around it. Beverly could see them, but they wouldn't be able to see her thanks to the old clunker car she was hiding behind. She sat on top of an overturned plastic black milk crate and usually wiled away the hours reading and listening to her CD player, the CD being one of the latest Now That's What I Call Music compilations. Beverly was careful to keep an eye on the gang to make sure they remained unaware of her presence, but that wasn't the only reason she sometimes watched them. They were different outside of school, not that much so but they were...unguarded out in the junkyard. In the halls they acted so tough and hard, but around each other they were more easy-going and almost normal. 

  
That being said, Beverly had witnessed some disturbing things take place between the young men over the course of two and a half years. She'd seen Patrick give Henry a handjob. She'd heard them fight about whether that made Henry gay or not, and whether or not he actually liked it. They'd come to blows and threatened to tell the people in town on each other--Patrick had strangled Henry when the latter brought up Hockstetter's penchant for animal abuse and corpse-hoarding. She'd seen that fridge that Patrick loved so much and hadn't seen what was inside but the stench of its contents helped her fill in the blanks. She also saw what Patrick tried to do to Victor Criss just a few months ago, and her heart went out to the quiet blonde boy. However, she was also confused because Victor had come right back around Henry and the others the very next day as if he hadn't almost gotten violently assaulted. 

  
_He's probably afraid of them,_ Beverly reasoned. Victor was only two years older than her at the ripe age of seventeen. He was also the only gang member still in school, with Belch having graduated the year prior. Henry dropped out before Beverly even made it to high school and so had Patrick; both were aged 19 and 21 respectively and both had jobs in town, jobs that kept them from terrorizing the kids of Derry as much as they used to. Victor wasn't as vicious on his own and mostly stayed to himself. 

  
Beverly was currently in the middle of reading her book. Suddenly, the sound of a car engine cut into the relative silence of the junkyard. She closed her book and slid it into her over-the-shoulder satchel, then turned around on her milk crate and peered through the car windows in front of her. She saw not only the card table ahead of her spot, but to the far left there were the open gates that separated the road from the junkyard's expansive lot. A bright yellow Firebird came to a stop along the street and three familiar figures climbed out of the muscle car. 

  
Henry was among them and he looked pissed. 

  
No, he looked enraged. Infuriated. He looked like he was ready to murder someone as he came stalking through the gates onto the lot's gravelly ground. Patrick flanked him on the right, and the tall, black-haired man flicked the remnants of a cigarette off to the side as he walked. On Henry's left was Victor, hands in the pockets of his jeans and eyes downcast. He often looked like that lately. 

  
Beverly watched the three come over to their card table and take their seats. Victor pulled his chair out on the right side of the table and sat facing away from it. Henry yanked out the chair across from his and dropped down into it in a huff, and Patrick stretched out on the chair in between them. The fourth chair was unoccupied since Belch no longer joined them, having moved to Michigan with his dad's side of the family. 

  
Beverly envied him. 

  
_I wish there was somewhere I could go,_ she lamented. She'd thought about running away once, at the age of thirteen, but the thought of ending up in a worse situation than her current one kept her stationed miserably in Derry. 

  
Beverly tilted her head and continued to watch. She saw Henry drum his fingers angrily on the arm of his chair, his dark eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He was still wearing his work uniform, which was comprised of a rusty orange t-shirt, tan denim pants, and heavy black boots. He also wore an orange cap with the hardware store's logo on it. He took it off and tossed it aside, then ran a hand through his curly black hair in agitation.   
I'm surprised he cut his mullet, Beverly thought. With the way the raven locks fell over his forehead and eye he kind of reminded her of an older, meaner version of the Jewish kid from school. 

  
_Stan Uris,_ her mind absently supplied.

  
"I'm so goddamned tired of this shit," Henry growled. He sprang to his feet and began to pace, taking a cigarette from his pants pocket. "Patrick gimme' a fuckin' light." 

  
Patrick dug into the pocket of his straight-leg black jeans and tossed a silver zippo lighter towards Henry, who caught it mid-stride and then tossed it back upon using it. While Henry smoked, Patrick kept flipping the lighter open and closed, igniting the small, contained flame over and over. 

  
"It ain't right," Henry spat. "I'm out here bustin' my ass at this bullshit job just to turn around and fork over my check to my alcoholic failure of a father! Piece of shit spends half of it on booze and hot dogs and gambles the rest away!" 

  
Victor stared at his shoes as if in his own little world, while Patrick seemed amused. His wide mouth was curved in a languid smile and his black eyes were following Henry's back and forth movements like a cat would a piece of tuna on a string. 

  
"I'm fuckin' sick of it!" Henry bellowed.

  
"So stop bitchin'," Patrick slyly suggested. "Do something about it." 

  
"Like what?!" Henry snapped, rounding on him.

  
Rather than flinch away in fear as anyone else would when faced with Henry's wrath, Patrick grinned and responded lightly, "Kill him. You stole his gun before, right? Just blow his fuckin' head off. Make it look like a suicide." 

  
Henry fell silent; it seemed like he was actually considering it. 

  
Beverly wondered whether Patrick was serious or not and whether Henry actually had the gall to kill his own father. 

"I need to move out." Henry stated at last. "But there's no place in this shit-hole town to go that won't fuck me over in rent payments." 

  
"You could stay with me," Patrick offered. He reclined in his chair with his booted feet on the table, crossed at the ankles. "You can take my little brother's old room." 

  
Beverly felt a tendril of fear snake through her gut at the mention of Patrick's dead brother. There were rumors about how the toddler had met such an untimely end; rumors about Patrick having killed him right in his crib. 

Henry looked even more agitated and shook his head. "I need my own place." 

"You could squat somewhere," Patrick said. "You know there's a shit ton of abandoned houses all over the city." 

"And I'm supposed to shack up in one of them like a crackhead?" Henry sneered. 

"Just an idea," Patrick shrugged. "This house on Neibolt Street has lights and water and everything, only bad part is that it's apparently haunted." The young man finished with a broad grin.

Henry shot him a dubious frown and asked, "Fuck do you mean, it's haunted? Like ghosts and shit?" 

Patrick shrugged again and said, "All I know is that people who go in there don't come back out." 

"That's campfire shit," Henry dismissed. "You say there's lights and water? Who's paying the bill?" 

"Dunno." Patrick replied. "I go there sometimes to get high in peace, I like the, ah, ambiance of the place, you know? It feels so damn dark and evil." Patrick snickered. "I'm guessing you could clean it up a little bit and have yourself a cozy little love nest. Bring a couple whores over and some booze and food--that's what I'd call a good time." 

Henry was quiet for a moment. His gaze was somewhere off in the distance and his features had gone blank. 

_I know what house they're talking about_ , Beverly grimaced. _I can't believe they're actually talking about living there! That place is disgusting and smells like a sewer, how could anyone stand to be inside of it for more than a minute, let alone days on end?_

"I just need a place to lay my head while I stack my money," Henry spoke quietly. "Once I get enough cash saved up, I'll be on the first bus out of this cesspool." He looked at Patrick and said decisively, "I want you to show me this house, I want to see what it looks like." 

Patrick grinned. 

And then his eyes cut over to hers for some reason. 

Never before had any of the young men ever felt compelled to look in her direction, but now Patrick's dark eyes locked onto hers from yards away and she couldn't duck down fast enough. 

_Maybe he didn't see me,_ she hoped. 

  
That hope was dashed when Patrick's maniacal laughter rang out a second later. He had the most unsettling laugh she'd ever heard; it started out deep, then ended with a high-pitched titter like some kind of demented clown.

"What the fuck, Hockstetter?" She heard Henry grouse. "You on something?" 

Beverly heard someone's footfalls and knew it had to be Patrick. She immediately broke out into a run. 

"What the fuck?" Henry called out in surprise as she darted out in the open.

She was hoping to get to her bike across the street but of course she didn't make it. Before she could even get to the gates she was tackled from behind and fell hard to the ground. Beverly kept her face from getting busted by throwing up her hands to catch herself. Unfortunately her palm was sliced by a sharp piece of debris and she cried out. 

"You're pretty fast," She heard Patrick whisper near her ear. 

He was on top of her back, weighing her down with his surprisingly solid form. Beverly's knees were being smashed into the gravel and her injured hand was stinging in pain as she tried to brace herself against the ground and get up. 

"Is that who I think it is?" Henry sounded incredulous, and he sounded like he was getting closer. 

Beverly panicked and slammed the back of her head into Hockstetter's face. She felt her red-haired head connect with Patrick's teeth. Seizing the moment she scrambled forward and dashed through the gates like a woman possessed. 

_I am never coming back here again!_

* * *


	2. Guard Down, Coast is Clear

"Bevvie!"

Beverly winced at the sound of her father's voice getting closer and closer as he rushed down the hall to her room.

_What did I expect? It's past eight 'o'clock and I haven't gotten out of bed._

She was the main cook of the house so her father was bound to notice that she hadn't prepared breakfast promptly at 7am like she usually did. She couldn't help it, she was terrified of leaving the apartment. The fact that she'd made it home in one piece after fleeing the junkyard last night was a miracle in itself, she didn't want to go tempting fate by going out in public so soon.

 _Patrick might kill me if he sees me walking around,_ she feared. _I'm pretty sure I knocked one of his teeth out._

She sat up in bed in her cotton white nightgown and drew her knees up to her chest. Her father came bursting into her room with his narrow features hardened in a scowl.

"There some reason you're still in bed?" Alvin Marsh demanded. "Explain yourself, girl!"

"I don't feel good, Daddy," Beverly responded in the softest, most pitiful voice she could muster. She blinked her eyes rapidly as if she were on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry I didn't get up or cook for you, I just feel really bad."

It worked like a charm.

Alvin came over and put the back of his hand against her forehead. His anger turned to wary concern as he sat near her feet on the mattress. Alvin looked her over and then told her to open her mouth. When she did, he narrowed his eyes and tsked.

"Your throat does look a bit red," He noted to himself. "You rode your bike home last night?"

Beverly nodded.

"It was cold last night, that must be what did it." Alvin surmised. "You take some medicine and sleep it off."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Mm-hm," Alvin grunted. He then gripped her shoulder and warned, "You leave this apartment to go running around with some boy and I swear to God I'll whip the skin off of you, you hear me, girl?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Alvin's grip loosened and so did the tense furrow of his brows. He moved his hand from her shoulder and stroked her cheek. His touch and his gaze made her feel so uncomfortable.

Eventually he stood and left her room. Beverly heard him moving about in the other room, preparing for his janitorial job at the school. Only once he'd left the apartment did she finally relax.

 _As long as I'm here I'm safe_ , she thought.

Rather than take medicine she didn't really need, Beverly fetched a book from her satchel and made herself some jasmine tea. She spent the day reading and listening to music, with a break around mid-day for a peanut-butter and honey sandwich.

By the time her dad came home, she'd forgotten that she was supposed to be sick. He came into her room with a soliciting expression on his weathered face.

He asked, "How are you doing, there, Bevvie?"

"Huh?" Alvin's expression turned suspicious.

"Sorry, Daddy, I didn't hear you," she covered. "I took some medicine this morning and I'm feeling a lot better now."

His expression cleared and he nodded. "Good. Go ahead and iron my uniform, okay baby? Iron your school clothes for tomorrow, too."

 _Fuck! I should've said I was still sick! I could've bought myself another day or two._ Now she had the frightening prospect of having to dodge the Bowers Gang tomorrow. She was _not_ looking forward to that.

* * *

"You know, this isn't what I had on my agenda today, believe it or not--"

"Shut the fuck up, Hockstetter."

Despite snapping at his friend, Henry shared in the older guy's sentiments. He hadn't planned on spending the entire morning sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing baseboards and yet here he was. In the house on Neibolt Street. Henry had checked it out for himself and it was...way worse than Patrick described. The house was practically falling apart, there was mold in what was left of the kitchen, and the entire place reeked to high heaven.

Hockstetter was right about one thing, though; there were lights and running water and that's all Henry needed to know.

He didn't intend to clean up the whole house, he just picked a room upstairs to live in for the forseeable future. The room was fairly large and the least damaged area of the house. With hardwood flooring and an intact ceiling fan light, the room was completely empty and had a boarded-up window along the wall across from the door. Along the right wall there were three doors: the first door was a walk-in closet, the middle door led to a bathroom, and the last door had a staircase that led to the basement down below the first floor. On the far left there was another door that led to a room full of Clown statues, clown figurines, clown paintings, and various other clown-related items.

 _Creepy_ , he'd noted.

Henry got Patrick to do most of the work of turning the room from a dusty roach trap into something halfway decent--he would've brought Victor along, too, but the boy was currently in class. Henry and Patrick had then spent Henry's latest check down at the big box supermarket picking up a mini-fridge, microwave, and some basic groceries. He got a king-sized mattress and bedding from the thrift store and picked up some booze and cigarettes from the corner store while he was at it.

"Finished all your shopping, dear?" Hockstetter teased from the driver's seat.

Henry shot him a glare but he was secretly grateful that Patrick had chosen to join him for the day. The fact that Patrick had basically blown off a whole day to chauffeur Henry around and help him get what he needed was...kinda nice of him. Henry was sure that this was as close to moving into his first apartment as someone like him would ever get, given his troubled and poverty-ridden background. Instead of having his dad around to help him make the transition, he'd had Patrick and that was surprisingly not so bad. Henry begrudgingly turned back to Patrick and saw the black-haired man had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his knee. Patrick glanced over and, when he saw Henry looking, he flashed a big grin that Henry marginally returned.

* * *

Two days passed after Beverly's encounter with the gang in the junkyard. In those days she'd gone directly to school and back without lingering for too long in any one spot. She'd expected either Henry or Patrick or both to come jumping around a corner at her, but thankfully she hadn't seen hide nor hair of either of them. She _had_ seen Victor, but he didn't speak or so much as look at her in the school halls. Beverly began to feel safe again. So much so that she found herself leaving her apartment on a Sunday afternoon--day three without incident--to go downtown. That was where most of Derry's local shops were and she needed to get to the fabric store. She'd been designing an outfit in her down time at school and was ready to begin bringing the creation to life.

Dressing in a pair of black spandex bike shorts, an oversized baby blue T-shirt, white socks, and her trusty white tennis shoes, Beverly stepped out of her room. She heard her dad's snores coming from his room down the hall and figured she had another hour or two before he'd wake up. On her way out the apartment door she grabbed her father's old navy-blue maintenance jacket and shouldered into it, letting it drape over her slender frame. She often wore it to shield her from the autumn winds.

 _Hopefully I don't regret this,_ she thought as she hopped onto her bike.

* * *

There were few greater delights to Richie Tozier than hanging out with his friends Bill, Stan, and Eddie. It didn't matter what they were doing, he always managed to have a good time. They'd been friends for years since Stan was his neighbor and Bill had been his best friend since kindergarten. He'd met Eddie later on through Bill and the four of them were practically inseparable.

Today the four boys had piled into Bill's mom's Lexus so that Bill could drive them to the movies. They made a pit stop at the corner store to get junk food and were putting their money together to see how much they could afford.

"We should've just loaded up at Eduardo's house," Richie grinned. "We all know his mom's got the primo snacks. Primo pussy, too--"

"Shut the hell up!" Eddie snapped, right on cue.

Richie just laughed and, since he had no money to contribute--having spent it on concessions as school the other day--he stepped outside to smoke a cigarette.

 _Last time I tried to smoke in the theatre that one guy got all pissy,_ he recounted, though to be fair 'that guy' was an employee and the theatre had a 'no-smoking' policy. Richie had only just stepped through the store's chiming doors and onto the sidewalk when a yellow muscle car came flying down the street in front of him. Richie flinched backwards and, upon recognizing the car and its tinted windows, he shuddered.

 _Come on, get a grip,_ he chided himself. _So what if it's Hockstetter? You think he's gonna pull over and kick your ass? What is this, middle school?_

It had been years since he'd been bullied by Patrick, or any of the Bowers Gang. Their presence in the school system diminished little by little, first with Belch Huggins moving away, then Patrick getting expelled, and Henry dropping out right after. Now only Victor Criss was left and Richie barely saw much of him.

 _Fuckin' assholes should just drop dead already, do the world a favor_ , Richie scowled.

He couldn't count how many beatings he'd received at their hands, either for cracking what he'd thought were funny jokes, or for being in their way, or for just plain existing while they were around. The worst times were when Bowers and his thugs ganged up on Richie and his friends. Those were the times where Richie had gotten it the worst in his efforts to protect Stan and Eddie from the brunt of the violence, usually via his smart mouth and crass language. Bill could pretty much hold his own, but Bill had stopped showing fear the day Henry made the mistake of targeting Bill's little brother while the siblings were walking down the street. Richie half believed that Bill would've killed Henry if Hockstetter hadn't intervened.

Richie watched the yellow car make a u-turn and his stomach dropped.

 _Are they coming back around?_ He shouldn't still be afraid of them. He was fifteen years old and had gotten taller and stronger than his middle-school self. Sure, he was still gangly as all get-out but he no longer had glasses for them to knock off his face, rendering him partially handicapped. He was pretty sure that if it came down to a fight, he could maybe come out on top...?

Richie went back into the store.

He felt like such a little bitch. So, a moment later, he went back outside and stubbornly pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, along with his lighter. He tossed his fringe out of his eyes and brought the cigarette to his mouth, then the lighter--

A sharp, piercing scream rang out.

_WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!_

Richie did a full-body shudder and dropped his lighter. He whipped his head around wildly in search of the source of that blood-curdling shriek but nothing was amiss. People milled about along the sidewalks and continued to drive along the road as if there hadn't just been a loud cry for help.

 _What the fuck is wrong with these people,_ Richie was bewildered. _Did they not just hear that?!_

He saw the yellow Firebird up ahead, across the street. It was parked at an odd angle--halfway on the curb--and was blocking an alley to the right of it. No one was in or around the car, though, not that he could see. Still, he traced the sound of the scream to that general direction and had a sick feeling that Bowers or Hockstetter had something to do with it.

 _Fuck..._. His heart was racing and his hand trembled when he went to pick up his lighter. For a split second he wondered if he should go over and investigate, then shot that idea down immediately. Instead he wiped his clammy palms on his jeans and went back inside the store.

* * *


	3. Swift Retribution

Beverly was coming down the sidewalk when it happened: one second she was riding with the wind at her back, admiring the sights and sounds of Derry's shopping sector without a care in the world. Then she heard the tell-tale rumble of a muscle car engine. 

She glanced behind her and saw two shuttered headlights coming right for her. To her absolute horror the car jumped the curb and not only blocked her path on the sidewalk, but clipped the front wheel of her bike. Beverly cried out as she and the bike came toppling over. She hurt her elbow on the way down and tears welled in her eyes. 

One of the car doors opened up and from the backseat Patrick's long-legged form emerged. He had a psychopathic grin on his face and his black eyes shone bright with excitement. Beverly regarded him in wide-eyed shock, wasting precious seconds in the process.

By the time she even thought of making a move to get away, Patrick had closed in on her sitting form and was pulling her up off the ground. 

"Stop! Get away!" Beverly shrieked and struggled against him.

Despite her previous attack, Patrick wasn't missing any teeth; all of them showed through his ear-to-ear grin. He didn't actually speak to her, though, he just locked her arms behind her and started forcing her towards the car. 

Beverly let out the loudest, most desperate scream she could muster, hoping to get someone's--anyone's--attention.

Patrick covered his free hand over her mouth and shoved her into the car. He got in right behind her and before he'd even shut the door, the car was moving, speeding away down the street. Beverly lost her balance and Patrick closed the door. Beverly reached behind her and tried to open the left side door but it was most likely on child-lock. 

_Fuck!_

Her mind was racing a mile a minute as she continued to yank fruitlessly at the handle. That was until Patrick yanked her backwards by a fist-full of her jacket. He pulled her into his lap and held her there by an arm around her waist. The other hand he used to grasp her throat nearly to the point of suffocation.  
Beverly's eyes again watered and she trembled in silence. 

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--_

Her mind was repeating that word in a frenzied panic as she realized just who was in the driver's seat. The car's tinted interior was very dim but she could still make out that masculine jawline and flinty dark eyes.   
Henry Bowers. 

_I'm dead,_ she despaired, _they're gonna' take me back to the junkyard, beat me, torture me, and then chop up my body and throw me in the canal._

She started to tremble in Hockstetter's lap, which made him tighten his arm around her waist but loosen his grip on her throat a bit. 

Patrick had an erection.

It was painfully, disgustingly obvious and, when she shifted to get away from it, he let out a groan and pulled her closer towards him. She was flush against the hard plane of his chest with his chin on her shoulder and his mouth near the side of her head. He didn't say anything but he panted hot, shallow breaths against the shell of her ear. 

His hand began to wander, creeping from her hip to the inside of her thigh. She wished she'd worn denim instead of spandex because his hot, meaty palm burned sensitive skin of her leg through the thin fabric. 

Beverly had no idea where Henry was headed but it was turning out to be the longest, most uncomfortable ride of her life. 

Patrick started rubbing his middle and ring fingers against the seat of her shorts. His fingers were as bony as they were long. Squirming to avoid them only pushed her back onto his erection again so Beverly remained as still as she could while Patrick continuously molested her.

Just as he was palming her breast through her shirt and nibbling on her earlobe, the car slowed down and then stopped altogether. 

"Right when it was getting good," Patrick complained in a low, husky voice. He let his hands slide down to meet around her waist. 

Henry got out of the car and Beverly squinted at the glimpse of waning sunlight. He shut the door with a loud slam and then came around to open Patrick's side of the car. Patrick swiveled with Beverly in his lap and planted his booted feet onto the ground. Beverly saw that the car was parked alongside the road and that there was an empty lot across the street. 

She looked up at Henry while Patrick sniffed the back of her hair. Henry gazed down at her with an unreadable expression. He didn't look angry at all. In fact, he almost looked pensive as he reached down to mold his hand against the side of her cheek. Henry didn't hit her or anything, he thumbed away a tear that'd fallen from her eye.

The embrace was downright gentle, leaving Beverly completely disconcerted. 

"You're real cute, you know that?" He murmured softly. "Such a pretty face..." 

He continued to gaze down at her. The wind lifted his dark curls from his forehead and fluttered the lapels of his black jacket. He was dressed in denim jeans, a white t-shirt, and black ankle-high laced boots. Beverly winced at the thought of one of those heavy boots connecting with the side of her ribs. 

"Hold out your hands." Henry quietly commanded. 

Beverly contemplated the chances of escape; she wasn't going anywhere with Patrick's arms around her; his grip was vice-like. 

"Why?" 

"Don't ask questions, Red." Henry warned. "Just do as I say and I won't have to hurt you." 

Beverly decided to obey and reluctantly tugged her arms free from beneath Patrick's bigger ones. She hesitated but eventually held out her hands to Henry, palms up. He reached into his jacket and pulled something shiny and silver from the depths of his pocket. 

Fortunately it wasn't a knife. 

"Hold still," Henry stated while cuffing her wrists. 

Beverly winced when he tightened them with a series of clicks. He dropped her bound wrists into her lap and then glanced over the hood of the car to speak to someone. 

"Victor come here." 

_Victor? Victor Criss?_

Yes, the blonde was also present and came from the other side of the car. Had he been in the front seat the whole time? Beverly hadn't even noticed. Then again, she'd been preoccupied with Patrick's invasive attention. 

Victor was wearing the same thing as Henry except his jacket was thinner and made of camouflage material. Beverly tried to meet his gaze but his light brown eyes were conflicted and downcast. 

"Vic, get in front in case she tries to run." Henry instructed, then started walking away.

Victor did as he was told and stood awkwardly by while Patrick got out of the car. As he did Beverly was struck with a fight-or-flight shot of adrenaline. She waited until Patrick loosened his grip and then sprang forward. Patrick latched onto her dad's jacket but she quickly peeled out of it and bolted for the road. 

"Don't just fuckin' stand there, Vic, grab her!" She heard Henry snap. 

Victor took chase but it was Patrick who ended up catching her. He crashed into her from behind and closed his arms around her like a human sarcophagus. Beverly grunted with the effort of prying him off but he just laughed.

He swept her off the ground and into his arms. 

"No! Let go!" Beverly shouted. "Somebody help!" 

The street they were on was pretty deserted, so either no one could hear her or--more likely--no one cared enough to come to her aid. 

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Patrick joked while carrying her back down the street. 

Beverly was horrified to see that their destination was an old abandoned house. She saw the Firebird parked near the gated front yard, a yard that was brown and filled with more weeds than grass. Henry and Victor were standing on the porch and, with Beverly helplessly cradled in his arms, Patrick joined them.

Patrick's chest was rising and falling against her shoulder as a result of the energy he'd just expended in wrangling her. She was too afraid to look into his face, too afraid of whatever demented expression was surely twisting his features at the moment. Instead she looked at Henry as the young man stepped in front of her line of sight. 

Again she feared that Henry would hit her but he just shook his head and said calmly, "That's strike one, Red." 

Henry then turned and entered the house. He shoved the door open and then stepped over the jagged part where the bottom of the wood had splintered and broken off. Victor followed behind and Patrick brought up the rear. 

Unwittingly so, Beverly turned her head from the house's interior towards Patrick's black T-shirt. She didn't mean to bury her head against his chest but the smell of his cologne and sweat was preferable to the horrid stench of the house. Patrick laughed and kissed the top of her head in response. 

She felt queasy as the young men bounded up the creaking staircase and prayed that Hockstetter wouldn't drop her. 

He didn't. 

He carried her through the upstairs hall and into a room that smelled and looked significantly better than the rest of the house. 

There was a large bed propped up on a wooden frame about two feet off the ground. It was set against the center wall, across from the door, and was decked out in white sheets and pillows. To the left was a window that was completely boarded up with planks of plywood. In front of the window was a fold table that held a four-foot mini-fridge.

Atop the fridge were various boxes and containers of food items. Next to that was a table and chair set with plastic dishes and cutlery in the center of it. On the left wall, there was a black leather couch blocking a single door. In front it was a coffee table with an astray and empty bottles of beer on its surface, with a large black rug beneath the table and the couch. To the right of the bed there wasn't much besides a single nightstand beside the mattress. It had a lamp and an alarm clock on top of it. One of three doors along the right wall was open, revealing a clean-looking bathroom. 

_I can't believe they actually went through with moving in here,_ Beverly marveled. She also couldn't believe how well they'd shaped the room up. It almost passed as a studio apartment or, at the very least, a decent motel room. However, she didn't understand why Henry had brought her here. 

It all clicked when Patrick crossed the room and deposited her onto the bed. 

Patrick went over to the couch and propped his feet onto the coffee table. He crossed his ankles and clasped his hands over his stomach with an anticipatory grin. 

Victor sat down at the single chair by the table adjacent to the couch. Henry came over to the foot of the bed where Beverly was placed and Beverly's blood chilled in her veins. The gravity of her predicament set in fact by fact. 

_I'm in an abandoned house with at least two potential criminals,_ she listed, _no one knows where I am--I don't have any friends so the only person who'd even look for me is my dad and there's no way he'll know where to find me._

She looked up at Henry and realized, _they can do whatever they want to me for however long they want; it's not like anyone will come knocking and because of these handcuffs I won't even be able to defend myself._

These revelations and the emotions they inspired must've shown on her face because Henry set his hands onto her shoulders with a grave expression. 

"By now you must realize how fucked you are," He stated evenly. "I suggest you tread carefully. If you cross me, if you do anything at all that pisses me off, I'll slit your throat and let Patrick take care of your body." 

Beverly glanced at the man in question and saw him lick his lips. Henry gripped her chin between his thumb and index finger and turned her face towards his. 

Very solemnly he said, "You get three strikes before I kill you. That stunt you pulled outside was strike one. Don't ever try to leave again, and don't ever try to attack me or Patrick or Victor in any way--that means no hitting, kicking, biting, scratching and no smarting off at the mouth, either, you got that?" 

Beverly started to tear up, especially when Henry's grip on her chin turned rough and painful. 

"When I ask you a question," He began in an icy tone. "I expect an answer: do you understand what I just said to you?" 

"...yes," Beverly whispered, her voice thick with fear and sadness. 

_This will probably be the worst experience of my life, I just know it._

Henry's brow relaxed and he loosened his grip on her chin. He nodded and murmured, "Good. This'll be much better for you if you cooperate." 

He stepped backwards and told her, "I'm gonna' take off those handcuffs now. Remember what I said: three strikes." Henry reached into his jacket pocket. 

Beverly's heart was slamming in her chest. Henry was blocking her path to the only exit in the room; however, if she could just get past him, she could maybe run downstairs and out the front door...

_and then what? I already tried running and Hockstetter caught me! Twice! He's too fast for me, it's those unnaturally long legs of his, I'm sure!_

While she was in thought the latch in her handcuffs clicked open and Henry slowly slid them off of her wrists. 

"You start out with your freedom." Henry told her. "If you misbehave, I'll have to take that freedom away little by little." 

Beverly rubbed her wrists and tried not to think about what that would entail. She did have to ask him something, though. 

"Why did you bring me here?" She felt stupid, since it was quite obvious why he'd brought her there. She clarified with, "Why me? Why not someone else, someone who's into this sort of thing...like a--" 

"--prostitute?" Henry finished flatly. "I'm not sticking my dick in some random hooker's diseased cunt." 

_And there it is; he definitely plans on having sex with me._

Somehow hearing him hint towards the inevitable act made the possibility that much more frightening and real for her. 

She stated with dismal certainty, "You're gonna' rape me, then?" 

"No," Henry lifted her chin and stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. He promised in a whisper, "I'm gonna' make you feel _real_ good, Red. You'll see. And you're gonna' make us feel good, too." 

Beverly looked away from the intensity of his gaze and was threatened by the implications of what he'd said. 

"First thing's first," Henry pulled back. "Take those clothes off." 

Beverly froze. 

"Shoes off, boys." Henry told his friends. 

Henry toed out of his boots and socks, then shed his jacket and tossed it towards the couch. It hit Hockstetter in the face as the lanky male was unlacing his boots. 

Beverly moved backwards but Henry grabbed her ankles; he pulled off her tennis shoes and socks and dropped them onto the floor with two successive thuds. 

"Take them off, Red." Henry repeated. "I'm not gonna' ask you again." 

"I don't want to," Beverly's voice shook. "Don't make me, Henry, please--" 

"Red." Henry clipped, gaining a frown. "Disobeying me counts as a strike." 

Beverly wavered. She really didn't want to disrobe, knowing what it'd lead to, but what choice did she really have? 

_At least if I cooperate I won't get hurt as badly,_ she thought--she hoped. 

Beverly looked away and took the hem of her T-shirt in both hands. She'd lost her jacket somewhere outside so the shirt was first to come off. She raised the cotton garment over her stomach, then shifted onto her knees so that she could lift it over her head. 

Patrick whistled and Henry's frown faded. His expression grew blank like before. He reached forward to take her shirt from her hands and toss it to the side, near the nightstand. 

"Now the pants," His voice had gotten lower, darker. 

Beverly trembled as she raised up on her knees and pushed her thumbs below the waistband of her shorts on either side of her hips. Before going any further, she again looked to Henry with imploring blue eyes. 

"Do it." He demanded coldly. 

Tears ran down Beverly's bowed head, falling from her stinging eyes and sliding over her cheeks--cheeks that were hot and flushed with shame. Beverly's shorts came sliding down at the slow pace she was pulling them, and before she could get them off Henry lost his patience. 

"I didn't ask for a goddamn show," He growled. His hands snapped forward to grab her knees and yank her onto her butt. He then pulled her shorts all the way off and flung them near her discarded shirt. 

Beverly panicked and scrambled up the bed away from him, moving to sit with her back against the row of pillows with her knees drawn protectively against her chest. Her thick red hair hung like drapes on either side of her frightened face and lingering tears beaded her lashes. 

"That's more like it," Henry crooned from the foot of the bed. "Lie down so we can get a good look at you." 

Beverly didn't want to but she lowered her legs one by one, then sank to her elbows atop the cool white sheets. Her breaths were coming in short and fast and she began to feel light-headed. 

"Both of you, come over here." Henry urged. 

To her utter embarrassment, Patrick and Victor came over to the left side of the bed. She didn't even look at them but could feel their eyes on her; well, Patrick's eyes, at least. 

"Those are real sweet," Henry said in reference to her white cotton underwear. "I'll let you keep them on for now." 

Small mercies. 

Beverly raised her knees again when Henry climbed onto the bed. She parted her lips as if to cry out or stop him, but what would be the point? He'd just advance anyway as he was doing right then. 

Henry came towards her, sitting on his haunches on the right side of the bed. He stroked her wavy red hair away from her sweating forehead, then tucked the long locks behind one ear gently.

"Pretty girl," he whispered. "What are you gonna' do for me?" 

Beverly eyed him nervously. 

"Say, 'whatever you want, daddy _'_ ,'" Henry coached. 

_I'm not gonna' say that!_

"Say it." Henry tersely demanded. 

"...I don't..." Beverly stammered, "...please don't make me say that." 

"You're gonna' say it." Henry assured her. He asked again, "What are you gonna' do for me, Red?" 

"...whatever..." Beverly's throat tightened. "...whatever you want, daddy." 

Beverly was mortified. 

"Fuck, she sounds so cute when she begs," Patrick said with a lusty sigh. "Make her say something else." 

Henry flashed a sly smirk at Patrick and said, "Keep it in your pants, Hockstetter. We're just gettin' started." He raked over Beverly's slender figure with darkened eyes and whispered, "You gotta' learn to pace yourself." 

Beverly wanted to run. 

"Tell me something, Red," Henry started. "Have you fucked anybody yet? I know what people say but I've been watching you. You're no whore like Sarah Parker--" 

Patrick snorted at the mention of the promiscuous high-schooler turned stripper from Patrick and Henry's graduating class. 

"You stay to yourself." Henry continued. "But I know what people say about your father."   
Again Beverly was deeply embarrassed, shown noticeably by the blush on her face. 

"Is it true he touches you?" Henry asked cruelly. "Did he take your cookie, Red?"   
Patrick snickered. 

"Did he fuck his little girl before anyone else could get the chance to?" 

"Stop it," Beverly entreated. "My father doesn't touch me. Those are just rumors." 

Henry stared at her as if gauging the veracity of her words. Or maybe he was thinking of what he'd do to her next. It was impossible to tell. 

"You can't be a virgin," Henry quietly insisted. "You and Denbrough had a thing for each other; did you two ever fuck? Huh?" Henry smirked. "Did you give your kitty to that stuttering freak?" 

"Don't call him that!" Beverly snapped before she could help it. 

Bill was possibly the sweetest young man in all of Derry. She didn't want to hear Henry speak so crassly about someone who'd been nothing but nice to her. 

Henry rolled his eyes and stood up from the bed. "It doesn't matter who had you before," He stated. "You're ours now." 

Beverly was too afraid to speak against him again. 

"Victor." 

Both Beverly and Victor flinched at the abrupt address. Henry motioned for Victor to come around to the other side of the bed and, when the blonde reluctantly came to stand beside him, Henry clapped a hand on Victor's shoulder. 

"You had a thing for her, too, didn't you Vic?" 

Victor reddened and looked down at his feet, while Patrick broke out in a grin.

Henry smirked and said, "You think I forgot how you used to sneak looks at her in school? That was the only way I knew you weren't gay." 

Patrick chuckled and said, "That's still up for debate." 

"Fuck you." Victor mumbled. 

That just made Patrick laugh harder. "My case in fucking point!" 

"Leave him alone," Henry said. "He's not gay, he's just a little shy. But I'm gonna' help him get over that." Henry jostled Victor's shoulder playfully and then said, "Get on the bed and give our girl a kiss." 

Beverly frowned and was surprised when Victor looked just as alarmed as she was. His dark brows furrowed above his apprehensive brown eyes. Henry tipped his head towards the bed and Victor let out the tiniest of sighs. 

He turned to the bed and shrugged out of his camo jacket. 

Patrick bit his bottom lip and Henry held a small smirk. They both watched Victor fold his jacket in half and turn to place it neatly on top of the nightstand.

"Quit stallin', motherfucker." Henry's voice lacked its usual bite; in a way it sounded like he was genuinely trying to help the younger male. 

Victor didn't look like he appreciated it; he looked pale and like he wanted to flee. Still, he did as Henry said and climbed onto the bed. He straddled Beverly without actually touching her, which wasn't good enough for Henry. 

"Lean forward," Henry coaxed. "Here, like this--" Henry positioned Victor above Beverly in a way that left him balancing on his forearms above her, with their faces just inches apart. Both he and Beverly avoided each other's gazes, feeling equally humiliated. 

"They're so cute," Patrick giggled. "They can't even look at each other." 

Henry sighed and said sternly, "Look at her, Victor. Look her right in those pretty blue eyes." 

Beverly's eyes locked onto Victor's a moment later and she observed the teenager up close. His features were just as soft as hers, and she saw freckles dotting the bridge of his rounded nose. He blinked rapidly, drawing attention to his thick dark lashes, and then her eyes went to his pale, down-turned mouth. 

Beverly used to have a crush on the Varsity baseball player. Now she was simply afraid of him, afraid of what he'd let Henry talk him into doing to her. 

"Don't just stare at her," Henry urged. "Kiss her." 

Beverly closed her eyes not knowing what to expect. Victor's soft lips made feather-light contact with hers a moment later. A boisterous laugh from Patrick punctuated the end of what was technically her second kiss. Her first had been with Bill Denbrough back in the third grade. They'd been in a play together. That seemed like such a long time ago. 

"Christ, that's pathetic," Henry critically assessed. "Kiss her again, like you mean it this time." 

Victor was trying his best to hide his emotions but his eyes told a story of how much he wanted to be anywhere but in that room. Beverly almost felt sorry for him, but knew that he had more choice than her in this situation. 

Victor lowered his head again and Beverly's body shivered in the drafty room. She felt the heat from Victor's body against her exposed chest and stomach and, deep in the back of her mind, had to admit it didn't feel so bad. Nor did his second attempt at kissing her. 

He pressed his lips to hers with more deliberation, then pulled back, glanced into her eyes, and kissed her again. Beverly's lips parted and the feeling of Victor's tongue slipping tentatively between them was a new and stirring sensation. 

_He smells nice,_ she thought errantly. _This feels kind of nice...?_

"Alright, that's enough." Henry seemed irritated all of a sudden. He still clapped Victor on the back and told him, "Good job, kid." 

Victor moved hastily off the bed and out of Beverly's view. Henry took Victor's place on the bed and told Patrick to join him.

"Sit right there," Henry directed Patrick towards where the bed met the wall. "Put her in your lap." 

_Great, my favorite place to be,_ Beverly thought dismally. 

This time was worse than in the car because there was less of a buffer between her backside and Patrick's groin. And then he unbuttoned his jeans and sat her right up against his stiffened dick. 

"Shhh, it's okay," he whispered lewdly into her ear. His arms took up residence around her bare midriff. 

Patrick kissed her shoulder and Henry gripped the undersides of her knees. Beverly felt like she'd fallen into deep waters with nothing to grab onto. 

"Henry--" She began to hyperventilate, but what could she possibly say? 

"Yeah?" Henry responded softly. "You got something you wanna' tell me?" 

Henry sat on his heels between her legs and started rubbing his hands along the inside of her thighs. Patrick was reclining at an angle so she had to brace her hands on his legs and strain her neck just to sit up. 

"Henry, this isn't right." Beverly pleaded. "I'm not eighteen yet, if you get caught you'll get in all kinds of trouble..." 

Henry didn't seem to care. He didn't even bother responding, he just bent down and kissed her left knee, then her right one; all the while he kept his gaze intently on her. Patrick was making out with the side of her neck and it was making her feel both nauseous and aroused. 

_Oh my God, this is sick, this is so sick and wrong._

Henry laid down on his stomach. She was confused when he got into a planking position with his forearms below each of her and Patrick's legs, but then when he pried her underwear to the side she knew what he was about to do. The blood rushed from her head and she collapsed back onto Patrick's chest. His chest vibrated as he quietly laughed at her expense. 

Nothing could have prepared her for the moment Henry laid a kiss onto her clit. Not only did her whole body jolt, she let out an obscenely raw moan; it was thankfully as brief as it was unexpected, but Beverly still wanted to crawl in a hole and die. 

"Yeah, baby," Patrick groaned into the side of her neck. "Let it out." 

Henry was grinning up at her so hard that all of his wolfish white teeth were on display. He didn't have to say a word for her to know how much he'd liked that. Beverly tried to close her legs--

"Bad girl," Patrick reached down and slapped his open palm against her right leg so hard that Beverly cried out. 

She clenched her teeth shut and vowed not to let out another single noise; she didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

Patrick rubbed her reddening thigh and Henry returned to her clit, licking the beady tip along with the rest of the nerve stem buried deep within her seam. Beverly had to bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Even so, the way her body was shaking was a dead giveaway to how receptive she was to Henry's attention. 

"I waited so long to taste your sugar," Henry said while rubbing her pearly clit. "It's even sweeter than I thought it'd be." 

A distressed 'nhn' noise slipped past Beverly's locked lips and through her nose. Henry chuckled and lapped at her sensitive flesh while Patrick sucked the skin of her throat into his wet, hot mouth.   
That was when Beverly's stomach tightened and she felt a rapid climax building up.

Her mind turned to static and her eyelids fluttered and thankfully her bladder was empty because she felt the muscles of her pelvic floor slip completely out of her control. Henry dipped his finger inside of her and stroked rhythmically against the top of her inner walls. 

Helplessly Beverly panted and heard her own hoarse voice getting louder with each exhalation. Patrick reached into her lap and, while Henry's tongue took the place of his finger, undulating inside of her, Patrick rubbed circles against her hooded pearl. She latched onto Patrick's forearm and dug her nails into his skin.

Her stomach got tenser and tenser, her biceps flexed to the point of burning and her breathing stopped altogether: she arrived at her first assisted orgasm. 

How many times had she touched herself in the privacy of her room? Never had it felt like this. 

_"Hn, hn, hn,"_ she kept gasping and panting over and over again. She was so embarrassed but couldn't stop. Sweat coated her body like a second skin and her legs were trembling in earnest. Henry clutched her hips and licked her clean from slit to clit. Patrick's hand burned a slow path from her clit, up her shuddering stomach, to her breast. He kneaded one in each hand while she rode out the pleasurable wave. 

Patrick closed his large hands over her throat and tipped her head back towards himself. He bent down and gave her a kiss that was mostly tongue and teeth--when he let her go her bottom lip was bleeding. 

Henry sat up and pulled Beverly forward. She felt like the room was spinning and part of her vision was still obscured with tiny stars. She stumbled but Patrick was right there behind her, steadying her by her waist and holding her against his taller, kneeling frame. 

Henry rose on his knees as well and cradled Beverly's face in his hands, making her look up at him. She blinked until her vision focused. Between Henry and Patrick she felt surrounded, trapped. 

"Told you I'd make you feel good," Henry murmured. "Didn't I make you feel good?" 

She didn't want to admit it but he had, and Patrick had, too.  
Henry didn't wait for a response, he leaned down and kissed her, taking her bottom lip between his teeth in much the same way Patrick had. He was kissing her and so was Patrick--Patrick's lips were on the back of her shoulder, then on her neck. It was extremely overwhelming.

"Now it's your turn," Henry said against her lips. He pecked them and added, "Time to give Daddy what he wants." 

The last of her orgasm faded away and Beverly felt repulsive and disgusting, both about the situation and herself. She was deeply disappointed in herself for not holding out longer--for getting off at all under these circumstances.  
 _There must be something wrong with me,_ she lamented. 

Henry snapped his fingers between Beverly's blue eyes and said, "Didn't you hear me? I said get on the floor, get on your knees." 

Beverly shrank. She asked in a weak voice, "Can I put my clothes back on?"

"Why bother?" Henry smirked. "You'd just have to take them off again anyway." 

Patrick snickered along with Henry and Beverly felt their laughter like a slap in the face; her cheeks stung and heated as if she'd been physically struck. She got out of the bed with her head and eyes lowered.   
Henry took her by the hand and led her over to other side of the mattress, the side that was across from the couch:

Victor was sitting there doing his best impression of a mannequin. 

_He saw everything,_ she only just realized. _He heard everything, too_. She'd never felt so low in all her life. 

When Victor got back to school, she was sure he'd tell everyone about what she'd done. Or maybe not, since he was always really quiet? She had no idea. 

"Alright, Red," Henry prepared her. "This might hurt a little but you're a big girl, you can handle it." 

She felt dread mount onto her shoulders. 

Henry and Patrick stepped in front of her and completely blocked her view of Victor. She saw that Patrick's pants were still open and he was palming himself through his underwear. Henry was unbuckling his worn leather belt. She put two and two together and swallowed a sob.

"Open wide, sweetheart," was all the warning she got before a dick was shoved in her face. 

Beverly winced and turned her head, bringing her hand up to fend off the pale member. The dick belonged to Patrick and it was just as vascular as the rest of him. It was also leaking clear, sticky fluid from the slit at its rounded tip. 

Patrick teased, "I know you know your way around a dick, little Red. Be a good girl and take it all the way down, okay?" 

She looked up at him, hoping to find mercy and coming up short. She only saw that his pupils were blown wide and his mouth was hanging open, allowing eager breaths to filter in and out. Patrick closed his hand over hers around the base of his dick and she felt his wiry pubic hair brush the edge of her palm. 

She grimaced. 

"Don't make that face, baby girl," Patrick laughed, "just open your mouth and I'll put it in." 

She opened her mouth like a spoonful of bitter medicine was on its way. The second that Patrick's wet tip touched her lips she turned her head and wiped her mouth. Henry and Patrick laughed. 

"I swear to God, she's so fuckin' cute," Patrick said. "Let's try that again. Close your eyes if you have to." 

That actually helped. She let her hands fall to her knees and let Patrick thread his fingers into the side of her hair; he angled her head backwards against the mattress and, inch by inch, she felt his dick slide into her mouth. 

He felt bigger than he looked. 

It hurt to take him in. 

She wanted to stop. She wanted to cry. She didn't want to do this but she didn't say a word, not that she could with his dick in her mouth. She bunched up the fabric of her shorts in her fists and let Patrick basically fuck into her mouth. 

She didn't dare open her eyes, this was embarrassing enough, but tears still found their way past her tightly-shut lids nonetheless. She did whatever Patrick told her; hollowed her cheeks, passed her tongue up and down the underside of his dick--she even did her best to keep from gagging as he pushed further and further in.

 _"Fuuuuck_ ," Patrick groaned in tortured delight. "I'm gonna' cum. I'm gonna cum all down her fuckin' throat, is that okay?" 

Him asking for permission threw Beverly for a loop, that is until she heard Henry say, _'Go ahead'_ , and then it made sense; he wasn't asking her, he was asking his gang leader. 

More cum than she could swallow came spilling out of Patrick's dick directly into her mouth and down her throat like Patrick said it would. He gripped both sides of her head and pushed in even more, until his stomach pressed into her nose. 

_Mind over matter,_ Beverly repeated with her eyes screwed shut. She tuned out the sound of Patrick's aggressive grunting. 

_just let it all go down._

Beverly managed not to gag as Patrick pulled his limp dick from the depths of her throat. He wiped the spit and semen from his length onto his jeans and then crouched down. 

"You can open your eyes now," He grinned broadly. When she did, he kissed her forehead and said, "You did so good! You should go into porn." Patrick slid his finger along the bottom of her lip and caught a trail of saliva with the tip of his digit; he winked at her and stuck it in his mouth. 

Beverly almost puked. 

"I think that's enough for today," Henry declared. "You look like you might actually cry." 

He was right about that, but Beverly was surprised Henry was taking it easy on her. _Then again, it's not like I'm going anywhere, he has all the time in the world._

"Hockstetter, put your dick away, Victor come on." Henry herded his friends towards the door. "Playtime's over for today." 

Patrick was still crouched in front of Beverly and, before he got up, he gave her a kiss on the temple. Beverly ducked away and drew her knees up. She watched Victor finally animate in the form of springing from the couch and making a bee-line for the door. Patrick left after him and then Henry shut them out. He came over to Beverly and knelt down. 

Henry smoothed a hand over her hair and she couldn't meet his gaze. The silence in the room was deafening. 

"I have to go to take care of a few things," Henry murmured quietly. "But I'll be back before you know it. Don't do anything stupid. I don't wanna' have to hurt you." Like Patrick, Henry kissed her forehead and then pushed a kiss onto her petal-soft lips. 

He went over to pick up his jacket, put it on, and then went back towards the door. Henry turned off the switch on the wall, robbing the room of almost all of its light--the digital alarm clock was the only other source. Before stepping out of the room, Henry pulled one last thing from his jacket's interior: a heavy silver padlock. 

  
She heard the door shut and then heard him attach the lock. He turned the knob on the other side and gave the door a few experimental pushes; while the knob turned freely, there was no give to the actual door. She was locked in.

* * *


	4. Aftermath

Beverly felt miserable. 

As soon as Henry left, she'd gone to the bathroom to pee, and to wash herself off with one of the small white hand towels and some hot, soapy water. After that she'd gotten redressed and had ended up taking a seat near the side of nightstand with her back to the wall. She didn't feel comfortable sitting anywhere else, especially the bed. 

_I can't believe I just did that..._

Her eyes glazed over in the dark as she stared off to the side, recounting with detached clarity the events prior. She recalled every one of Patrick and Henry's touches and just how they'd made her feel. 

_I think I actually liked what they did,_ she realized with dismay _. It_ _just felt so good; Oh, God,_ _I think I **am** a slut. _

Every time that word got passed around along with her name, she'd let it go in one ear and out the other. Now it seemed to stick to her like how Patrick's cum still stuck to the back of her throat. She could still taste it--all acrid and slippery and gross. 

_I shouldn't have gone down to that junkyard. What the hell was I thinking?_

She'd been thinking that as long as she stayed quiet, the gang would never know that she was there. Well, that was over with. To Henry and Patrick she was anything _but_ invisible. 

She shivered. 

Not just at the recollection of their respective gazes on her, but at the cold. 

_Is this house even insulated?_

Beverly wished she still had her father's jacket. She even wished to see her father come bursting through the door right about then. She'd take a slap to the face and a verbal lashing over whatever else Bowers and Hockstetter had in store for her. 

_I wonder where Henry went or when he's coming back._

Not that she was eager to see him return. She just didn't like being alone with her thoughts.

Several hours later, she got her wish. 

Beverly stirred at the sound of a key turning in the padlock on the other side of the room's door. She tensed and gripped her knees tightly with her eyes on the door. The door opened up a moment later and Henry's lean silhouette filled the doorway. He flipped a switch and turned on the ceiling fan light overhead. 

Beverly squinted. 

"Evening, Red." Henry quietly greeted. "Miss me?" 

Beverly's heart began to race. 

Henry was carrying a large brown bag. He stepped into the room and the scent of Chinese food made its way over to her. 

"Why are you on the floor?" Henry frowned. "Get up and come over here." 

Beverly's joints were stiff from sitting for so long but she got to her feet and took small steps over to where he stood in front of the door. Henry walked away before she made it there so she followed him over towards the couch. 

Henry set the paper bag onto the coffee table and then rounded on her. Beverly flinched but all he did was put his hands on her hips and bring her body close to his, close enough for him to dip his head and give her a slow, sensual kiss. Unlike Patrick, Henry didn't deliberately try to hurt her when using his tongue and teeth. 

Henry pulled back with hooded eyes. "This is how I want you to greet me when I come in the door," he told her. "If you refuse or forget I'll put you over my fuckin' knee." 

Beverly didn't think he was serious until she saw his solemn gaze and expression. Henry kissed her again and then ushered her over to the leather couch. He sat near the left-most end and brought her down beside him. Beverly immediately put an inch of space between them but Henry put his arm around her waist and kept her close by. 

"I brought us some food," Henry announced, gesturing towards the bag. "Did you eat anything while I was gone?" 

Beverly shook her head. 

Henry lifted a brow and then shook his head, too. "You're lucky I'm here to take care of you, little Red." 

_Take care of me?! You literally kidnapped me off the street, you lunatic,_ Beverly thought but held her tongue. The last thing she wanted to was irritate him out of feeding her. She hadn't eaten anything since lunchtime the day before, over twenty-four hours ago. 

Henry leaned forward and began taking items out of the large bag. He arranged the containers of fried rice, savory vegetables, and various breaded and sauced chicken nuggets out on the coffee table. All of it looked and smelled delicious.

It was almost too good to be true. 

_Why is he being so nice? Did he poison this food or something?_

She couldn't afford to care; she was far too famished. 

Beverly watched Henry get up and go over to the mini fridge. He came back with a beer, a can of Coke, and two paper plates and forks. After sitting back down, Henry portioned out equal shares of food onto each plate and then handed one to Beverly, along with the Coke. 

"Thank you," Beverly said upon accepting the food and drink. It was a habit to be polite, she hadn't actually meant to thank him. 

Henry smiled anyway and said, "Of course, sweetheart." 

Beverly practically inhaled her food. Henry ate his in a slower, less frenzied fashion. He seemed more interested in watching her. He casually swigged his beer while she cleared her paper plate of all its edible contents. She didn't eat a lot of takeout or fast food while at home so this was a rare treat. 

_How bizarre that I get to experience this at the hands of my enemy,_ she noted.

Beverly popped open her soda and Henry got up again. He cleared all the trash from the coffee table, placed the leftovers in the fridge, and got himself another beer. Beverly felt nervous as he drank; she didn't know anyone who was pleasant to be around when drunk. 

_Except Richie Tozier,_ she thought as a random memory popped into her head. One day Richie came to school wasted and his ensuing antics were utterly hilarious. The look on their homeroom teacher's beet-red face brought a small smile to her lips. 

"Aren't you gonna' eat your cookie?" Henry asked when he got back to the couch. 

She glanced at him and he gave her a friendly smile, except with his glinting eyes the expression seemed predatory. Beverly took one of the plastic-wrapped cookies and freed it from its sheath. She cracked it down the center and read over its hidden message. 

"Love thrives in the absence of fear." 

_...what? What does that even mean?_

She'd had Chinese cookies before but were the messages always so vague? 

"What's it say?" Henry asked. 

She balled up the note and said, "Nothing." 

Henry drank the last of his beer and reached for his own cookie. When he opened it and read the paper within, he started to laugh. 

"Confidence is the key to success," Henry recited. "Can you believe the shit they put in these things? So stupid." 

Yeah, Beverly thought. Stupid...

Henry drank two more beers and ended up falling asleep on the couch. He didn't bother telling her what to do with herself so Beverly crawled to the other end and curled up on the cushions. She rested her head on the arm of the couch and shivered her way to sleep. 


	5. Something Amiss

Beverly Marsh wasn't in class today. 

It wasn't a big deal; it was probably nothing. But for some reason, the sight of her empty seat in homeroom made Richie Tozier's stomach turn. 

_Kids miss class all the time_ , he reasoned. _She's probably just sick or something. She was sick last week. Maybe she's sick again. Maybe she's pregnant--_

Richie felt guilty about that thought since he knew it wasn't fair; the rumors about her being some kind of slut weren't nearly true. And he also felt bad for making a joke at her expense when she could be...what, missing? Dead?

Bill Denbrough was in the same homeroom. He stuck his left leg out to nudge Richie's foot with his own. Richie looked from the empty desk near the front of the class over to his best friend sitting in the row beside him. Bill sent a pointed glance at Beverly's desk with a troubled look on his tan-skinned face. 

Richie just shrugged. 

He tried all day to put it out of his mind, but one class period led to the next, he kept hearing that awful, feminine scream from yesterday afternoon. He remembered how much it'd bothered him then--he'd gone back into the store white as a sheet. Eddie had asked if he was ill. On the boys' way out, Richie had looked at the alley and saw that the Firebird was gone. In its place was an overturned bike that he'd vaguely recognized. Now, seeing that Beverly was absent, it clicked in his mind that the bike belonged to her. 

_That doesn't mean anything_ , he wanted to believe. _She could've just left it there to go in a store, and then Bowers and Hockstetter knocked it over with their car. For all I know, she could've come back for it after we left to go to the movies. She could be fine, she could be perfectly okay right now._

But what if she wasn't? 

_What if that scream had come from her? What if she'd gotten hurt or...killed_? Richie didn't put it past any of the Bowers' Gang to kill a kid, even a young girl like Beverly. She was as much fair game as anyone else in the town. 

_But they probably didn't kill her,_ Richie hurriedly thought. _Of course they didn't kill her! Even they're not that stupid to kill someone in broad daylight._

Killing wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a victim of Henry Bowers and his friends, though. All kinds of things were worse than just being plain old murdered. Richie felt increasingly uneasy. 

Victor Criss looked uneasy, too. 

Richie saw him briefly in the hall between first and second period and he'd never seen someone avoid eye contact so quickly before.

* * *

Beverly had several dreams in the night, but the one she had right before waking up was extremely vivid and memorable. It involved a mosquito biting her neck; the pain was insistent and annoying. Beverly cracked open her eyes and swatted absently at what she thought was a small insect. Instead her palm made contact with thick, loosely-curled hair. 

Beverly's eyes widened. 

She first saw the ceiling and the wooden fan bolted onto it; the light was off. Light was coming instead from the lamp to the left of the bed, the bed that she was now on her back in with her head amongst the pillows and the sheets and blanket on top of her. Also on top of her was a fully-clothed man. 

"Henry?" She whispered in a panic. 

All she could see was his shoulder and the top of his head as he continued to kiss and nip at her throat. In answer to his name, he hummed into her neck and made her shiver. 

_At least he isn't...inside of me. At least I still have my clothes on_ , she counted her blessings. 

Henry bracketed her head with his forearms and her legs with his own. His weight was on top of her from the abdomen down and, while he wasn't obese or anything, he was still slowly taking the wind out of her. 

"Good morning," He whispered before kissing her lips. "Sleep okay?" 

She actually had.

She was secretly glad he'd decided to move her from the uncomfortably cold leather couch to the soft and warm bed. But now she knew he planned to make use of it, and of her--she could see the lust building behind his darkened eyes. 

Henry gazed down at her and seemed to read her mind, saying quietly, "I'm horny this time of day; morning wood, you know?" His smirk was hardly charming. "You're gonna take care of that for me, though, aren't you Red?" 

_As if I have a choice,_ she frowned. _Well, I do, but..._

 _"Three strikes and I kill you,"_ she remembered he'd said. 

She decided to cooperate. She'd already gone down on him and Patrick and let Henry go down on her, what was the difference in going all the way? If she was going to object to something, she'd save it for something that was actually unbearable. 

Henry took her silence to mean she was just as eager as he was and his smirk turned to a grin. He began pulling down her spandex shorts.

"I'm gonna' go in to town today," Henry said while he took off her shirt. "I'll get you some pretty clothes while I'm out," Henry winked mischievously, "would you like that?" 

_I'd like to go home, and for you to never come near me again, but I guess that'd be too much to ask._ The thought of him buying her clothes implied that she'd be here for a while, a thought that only depressed her. 

Henry was oblivious to her emotions as he stared over her in her underwear; pink-tinged white skin, slender hips--her flesh was on display and he was taking it all in with greedy eye-fulls. 

Beverly looked away at the door across from the bed, the first of three along the right-hand wall. She wondered what was in it and where it led. She wondered the same of the last door since she knew the middle one led to a bathroom. 

"Hey, look at me." Henry ordered. 

She turned back to where his head hovered above hers and regarded him with a blank expression. That was until he touched her: he swiped two fingers along the seat of her underwear and Beverly's face flushed. 

Henry saw this and chuckled before slipping his hand inside of her panties. He used the tip of his thumb to rub against her clit and pushed not two but three fingers inside of her. One of his fingers massaged her nerve while the other two inched her inner walls further and further apart. Henry kissed her slowly. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on the healing cut Patrick gave her yesterday. His free hand started smoothing up her spine, lifting her body closer to his. Beverly lifted her hips a little. She started grinding into his hand.

Henry responded by taking his hand away and shifting so that his head was between her legs and her legs were on his shoulders. He got rid of her underwear altogether and licked his lips at the sight of her copper-colored pubic hair. Henry stroked his hands up and down her sides and then lapped at her clit with the end of his tongue. 

Beverly gripped the sheets on either side of her and laid back against the pillows. Henry had a devious glint in his eyes while eating her out and she didn't want to look at him. Instead she looked up at the ceiling fan and tried not to cry out. 

Her stomach was clenching harder and harder with every second that Henry spent french-kissing her clit. She felt her muscles spasm when Henry used his fingernails to rake gently over the sides of her waist. 

Henry licked his lips and marveled, "You're so fuckin' wet." 

Beverly's face pinched with embarrassment. 

"I think it's time," Henry continued. "I think you're good and ready for me."   
Henry started taking his clothes off and Beverly's pulse quickened more than it already had. She saw him rip his shirt over his head, fling it away, and work hastily at his belt buckle.   
Just stay calm, she coaxed herself. It'll be fine. People do this all the time, it's just sex. 

She was still so nervous and Henry's hasty enthusiasm wasn't helping. He looked almost unhinged with the way his dark eyes were glistening. In seconds he was on his hands and knees above her, stark naked from curly-haired head to toe. While he wasn't as big as Patrick, he was by no means small. The sight of his curved erection made her mouth go dry. Her palms and soles got sweaty, however--she likened the sensation to how she'd felt when reaching the top of a steep roller-coaster for the first time. 

Henry kissed her and started stroking his dick. He held one hand on her hip and used the other to line himself up at her entrance. Beverly tensed and Henry broke away to whisper, ' _shhh,_ ' in her ear while sliding his dick up and down her slit.

It felt so good. 

He did it over and over and Beverly started rutting her hips and her cunt against his wet tip. Henry started inching inside, and it was fine at first. Beverly then felt a shot of pain and it caught her off guard; she let out a sudden yelp. 

"It's okay, you're okay," Henry soothed. He pecked gently at her lips as if to distract her. 

It took ages for him to get all the way inside. By that point Beverly was a quivering, sweaty mess. Henry shuddered, then laughed breathlessly. 

"See?" He grinned. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" 

His dick was searing hot and throbbing. She was trying to get used to having it inside of her so she couldn't quite think of a coherent response. 

Henry positioned her arms around his neck. He reached behind her back to unlatch her bra--that took him a moment--and then there was nothing at all between his body and hers. His chest and abdomen pressed into her breasts and stomach and she found her hands smoothing shakily over his shoulders. 

Beverly gasped the first time he pulled out. The friction of his dick sliding out of her body was enough to make her fingers curl over Henry's biceps. He thrust his dick back in a second later and the girl released a soft little moan. 

Henry didn't talk anymore after that. He was far too preoccupied with fucking into her as deeply as he could. She expected this to be something she'd have to endure, that she'd have to just lie back and take it; she hadn't anticipated it'd feel so good. 

Beverly's legs were latched around Henry's torso but she relaxed them, opened them up as wide as she could--she was hoping to get more pleasure as he rocked into her. She heard him growling like an animal as he picked up the pace and the sound of those noises had her digging her nails into the backs of his shoulders. 

Henry quickened his pace and his heavy body slamming into her just became too much for Beverly to bear: she began to moan louder, more consistently.

"You like that, Red?" Henry whispered roughly in her ear. "You like getting fucked? You like how I'm fuckin' your slutty little pussy?" 

Beverly didn't answer, but she did tighten her grip on him. She felt like she couldn't get him close enough. 

Henry laughed and pounded her harder, then asked, "You gonna' cum? You gonna' cum all over my fuckin' dick?" 

"Uhn, yeah, yeah," She kept chanting that word as her orgasm finally hit her. 

Her eyes rolled back and her body clamped down around Henry's dick, then shuddered and twitched while he pumped in and out. Henry kept thrusting as her body grew limp and weak. Beverly's pleasure soon faded and her mind was cleared of its lust-induced haze. 

_What did I just do,_ seemed to be the general theme of her shameful thoughts. _I can't believe I just did that with Henry Bowers._

Henry still pounded away and, in the absence of her own arousal, his movements felt jerky and painful. 

_"Fuck,_ " He sounded desperate and hoarse. He wrapped his hands around her throat, "You fuckin' slut, you're gonna' make me cum, _fffuuu--_ " Henry laid his forehead against hers and did just that. 

Beverly felt his dick start to pulse deep inside of her--she felt the come spraying out from his tip and felt sick to her stomach. Henry let his grip on her throat go lax. He struggled to catch his breath and she felt every pound of his weight when he collapsed on top of her. 

"God dammit, baby," Henry laughed. "You really got it outta' me, huh?"

Beverly turned her head away. She knew there was no going back beyond this point. She felt...ruined, tainted, dirty--she felt ten time worse than she ever had around her father. Henry had truly taken away more than just her virginity. She feared she'd never feel whole and clean again. 

Henry eventually pulled out of her and went to the bathroom. She turned onto her side, staring at the wall and feeling absolutely worthless. 

"I've gotta' go to work," Henry announced over the sound of running water. "So I'll be gone for a while." 

He opened the door to the left of the bathroom and Beverly saw it was a closet; she saw that there were men's clothes hanging on a horizontal rod and an assortment of shoes lined up down below. A single light bulb was screwed into the low ceiling with a thin chain switch swinging nearby. 

Henry changed into his uniform; the orange T-shirt and cap and jeans. He put on his work boots, grabbed his jacket, and then shut the closet door. Beverly watched him but her mind was far away. Henry was none the wiser and came back over to the bed. He reached down and stroked her cheek. 

"Clean yourself up," He instructed. "I'll be back later on." 

Beverly didn't respond. She didn't even look up or blink. 

That was how Henry left her. 

Eventually she did get up. She forced herself to pick up her clothes from around the room and go to the bathroom. There she set her clothes onto the ledge of the sink and emptied her bladder into the toilet. It made her feel a little bit better to get the last remnants of Henry's seed out of her. 

She then turned on the overhead shower. Under a stream of hot water, her mind began to wander. 

_I missed school today_ , she dully realized. _Did anybody notice? Did anyone even care? Probably not. Who would care about a filthy, disgusting, worthless whore like me? I guess they were right in the end, I am a whore. Does this mean the rumors about my mom are true, too? That she slept with all those men behind my dad's back? No wonder she killed herself. That's probably what I'll do at some point._

Beverly felt depressed.

Before today, she'd entertained dreams of leaving Derry and becoming a clothing designer. She had a real passion for fashion, something she'd heard on a doll commercial on TV. She now felt that those dreams were unattainable and that she'd spend her whole life wasting away in the town she was born. 

* * *

Beverly got a visit in the middle of the afternoon. She'd fallen asleep on the couch but startled when she heard the door unlocking. 

Her body was aching and sore, particularly around her inner thighs. She hoped it would go away in time. For now she just kept her legs closed as she sat rigid and alert at the left end of the couch. 

The door swung open and banged on its hinges. Beverly jolted as Patrick Hockstetter entered the room. He wore a broad, devilish smile and had bags in each of his bony hands. Behind him, Victor Criss entered the room at a much less enthusiastic pace and, after shutting the door, Victor stood with his back against it. 

Patrick worked at a Sherwin-Williams and was currently wearing his uniform. That consisted of a short-sleeved white shirt tucked loosely into a pair of rugged white jeans. He also wore a black belt and a white cap over his shoulder-length black hair. Victor was dressed in a plain white tee shirt and jeans, with his familiar camouflage jacket. 

"Hello, Sweetheart," Patrick greeted brightly. He raised the bags in his hands as he came over to the couch. "Brought you something!" 

To Beverly's dismay, Patrick took a seat at her right on the couch. His knee knocked against hers as he spread his legs and set the bags down at her feet. He then dug into his pocket and lit up a cigarette. 

Beverly glanced at the two bags warily. For all she knew, they could be full of something nasty and gross, likes snakes or worms or shit. 

_Patrick took a shit in Richie Tozier's backpack once,_ Beverly recalled with a deep grimace. She only found out because Richie wouldn't shut up about it, though she could definitely understand his indignation. 

"Go ahead, take a look" Patrick encouraged beside her. He flashed her a wolfish grin and said, "I promise you'll like it." 

_I doubt that,_ Beverly frowned, but reached for one of the bags. 

Neither were very large, but one was bigger than the other and had red and pink stripes all over it: Beverly picked it up and inspected it. For some reason, the logo seemed familiar. 

_Don't tell me this is-_ -

Her thoughts were confirmed when she peeked into the bag's contents and saw a small assortment of lacy white garments. She knew that the store they'd come from was a women's boutique in the mall. It was a store she'd often avoided, not wanting to fuel the rumors about her being a slut. However, she'd always been curious about the kinds of things they sold.

She took out an object of elastic and lace and turned it over in her hands. She had no idea what it was. It looked like an over-sized hair scrunchie--

"That's a garter, baby girl," Patrick slyly informed her. "Go over to the bed and I'll help you put it on." 

Beverly looked over at him in alarm, then quietly said, "No thank you."   
Smoke and soft laughter came out of Patrick's mouth as he grinned and told her, "That wasn't a request. Go."   
Beverly frowned but picked up the bag and stood up. Her thighs were still hurting so she kept her movements careful and slow. Across from the couch she stood, setting the bag down onto the mattress and then crossing her arms. 

Patrick stood up languidly from the couch. His long legs carried him towards her in no more than the three steps and, while he walked, he took another drag on his cigarette.   
Beverly wrinkled her nose. 

"Alright, cutie," Patrick smirked. "Ready to play dress-up?" 

Beverly looked disturbed. 

"Take off your clothes," Patrick told her. "All of them. Let's go." 

Beverly didn't want to, but she also didn't want to get on his bad side. She quickly pulled off her shirt and shorts and dropped them in a pile at her feet. 

"Did you not hear me?" Patrick then asked. "I said all of them." He pointed with his cigarette hand at her underwear.

"Those, too." 

Beverly looked up at him beseechingly. "Can I go in the bathroom and change?" 

"No." He denied. "Stop being all shy. I've seen worse, don't worry." He winked at her suggestively. 

Beverly's face reddened as she looked away from him and unlatched her bra. As the straps fell down from her shoulders, she brought up her arm to obscure her small breasts from sight. Then she awkwardly used one hand to pull down her underwear and stepped out of them. Now completely naked, Beverly stared miserably down at her bare feet. 

Patrick's black boots came into her line of sight as he stepped closer. She felt him sweep her long red hair behind her shoulders and then he lifted her head. 

Beverly's blue eyes locked onto his. For the most part, Patrick was actually fairly handsome. Not in a conventional way, but in a sort of bad-boy, rock-star kind. His eyes were as dark as his jet black hair and were extremely sharp and cold, like a ruthlessly predatory animal. The only time they ever showed any kind of emotion was when they were drenched in lust or glinted with cruel amusement. 

Now they showed a mix of the two as he licked his bottom lip and brought his cigarette to his mouth. Patrick blew smoke right into her face and continued to stare at her as if thinking about something. 

He then turned to the bag and dumped its contents onto the mattress. For a moment he sorted them out, separating the individual pieces. Then he grabbed a lacy white bra and turned back to Beverly. 

"Put your arms down, love." 

She did as he commanded, though it took her several seconds. Patrick didn't complain, he just waited patiently until her upper body was on full display. Of course Patrick leered at her as he put her arms through the straps. He held her shoulders and turned her around. Moving her hair out of the way, Patrick latched the bra between her shoulder blades. Beverly shuddered at the feel of his slender fingers against her skin. 

Patrick turned her back around and had her step into a pair of underwear of the same cut and texture as the bra. She happened to look over at Victor in that moment as Patrick knelt down near her feet. Maybe she'd hoped to signal the blonde boy for help, or maybe she just wanted a bit of sympathy, but either way Victor was too busy making eyes at the floor and trying to phase through the door. Beverly felt a tendril of resentment take form in her heart towards the other high-schooler. 

She looked back at Patrick as he stood up and observed her. 

"White's a good color on you," he absently noted. 

Beverly looked down at herself--maybe under different circumstances she could appreciate how pretty the lacy set looked on her, but at the moment she just felt so exposed. 

Patrick took a white ribbon from the bed and looped it around her waist. He cris-crossed it and then turned her around. Again his fingers worked deftly against her lower spine and Beverly suppressed a shiver. She could vaguely tell that he was tying the ribbon in a bow. He took his time with it until it was perfectly symmetrical.   
He then turned her back around by the waist and adjusted the ribbons from the front. His cigarette burned dangerously close to her navel and Beverly was almost scared to move or even breathe for fear of getting burned. 

Patrick took the 'dress-up' element to heart as he continued to festoon the girl. He tipped her chin up so that he could secure a satin white choker around her slender neck and then lifted her foot to hook a garter around her thigh--

Beverly flinched when his fingers put pressure on the still-tender spot. 

She hadn't expected Patrick to notice, but he immediately looked up in question. He saw her look away and that seemed to clue him in; he grinned broadly but didn't say anything. Instead he slid another garter around her other thigh in silence. They were both soft and flowery, with a ruffled lace trim at the top and bottom of the band. 

Patrick picked up the last garment from the bed--a sheer white slip. He bunched it lightly in his hands and then pulled it over Beverly's head. The halter straps were made of ribbon and had to be tied together. Patrick turned the girl around for the umpteenth time and fashioned the straps into a loose bow. Beverly felt something while his fingers brushed over the back of her neck, something akin to arousal. 

_Perfect,_ she thought shamefully. _I'm getting worked up over Patrick Hockstetter, the guy who used to torture animals and kids._

She couldn't stop the tightening knot that'd formed in her gut. He was being uncharacteristically gentle and it was starting to get to her. Because of his proximity she was able to pick up on the smell formaldehyde and cologne and even that turned her on. 

Patrick fussed with the slip and adjusted the way it fell over her shoulders and waist. It was completely see-through and ended a good two inches above her knees. When Patrick was finally satisfied, he finished the outfit off with a pair of lace gloves--they slipped right onto Beverly's arms like cool water and went all the way up to her elbows. 

"There," Patrick stepped back with a smirk. "You look like a little doll." He turned towards his companion and said,

"Vicky, gimme' your comb." 

Victor frowned, probably in response to the nickname.

"I know you keep that damned thing on you, you vain motherfucker," Patrick taunted. "Hand it over." 

With a faint scowl Victor pulled a black comb from his pocket and tossed it to Patrick. The older male then took Beverly's chin in his grip and started raking through her thick red locks. 

Beverly felt another spike of arousal as Patrick combed through her hair. He parted it to the right so that it fell over her eye and tucked the rest behind her left ear. Once he was finished, he pocketed Victor's comb and laid his hands on Beverly's shoulders. He looked her up and down and back again, ending his inspection with an approving nod. 

"Go sit on the couch." 

Beverly did so and, as she was sitting down in her old spot near the left side, Patrick came over and pulled the coffee table away. He ground out his cigarette in the astray, then squatted down in front of her. He reached a hand into the bag that was still near the couch and pulled out a Polaroid camera. 

_Oh, God,_ Beverly's heart filled with dread. 

Patrick slid the other bag over near the bed and held the camera up to his eye. Beverly tensed on the couch, her body stiff and her face a few shades paler. 

"Don't be scared," Patrick lowered the camera with an easy smile. "It's just a couple of pictures. For the yearbook," he joked. 

Beverly didn't want any evidence of her in this place being taken but she wasn't the one with the camera, she wasn't the one in control. She looked at Patrick pleadingly but was met with his sociopathic grin. 

"Cross your legs," He told her. "And put your hands like this--" 

Patrick came over and positioned her to his liking; he arched her back forward and had her tilt her chin upwards, as if she were looking up at someone. He then stood over her and took her picture. When the photo ejected from the bottom of the device, Patrick waved it around until it developed. He looked it over with a deliberating frown. 

"Eh, it's good, but..." Patrick re-took the photo, then took several more from different heights. 

"Victor, come here." Patrick summoned the blonde boy over. 

Victor reluctantly pushed off of the door and came over to the couch. Patrick motioned for him to have a seat so he sat down at the opposite end of the couch--

"Get closer, ya little queer." 

Victor narrowed his eyes. 

"Go!" Patrick clipped. "Stop being a little bitch." 

Beverly saw Victor's jaw clench in anger, but still the boy obeyed. At Patrick's behest, Victor sat next to Beverly and put his arm around her shoulder. Both teenagers were uncomfortable and it must've been quite obvious because Patrick lowered the camera with a frustrated sigh. 

"How can two people so fucking photogenic have so little chemistry? I just don't understand." He took off his hat and ran a hand through his inky black hair. 

Victor was just as tense as she was, Beverly noticed. She almost felt bad for him again but felt even worse for herself. 

Patrick stepped in front of the pair and took Beverly by the hand. He stood her up from the couch and tapped Victor's leg. 

"Move here," He commanded, pointing towards where Beverly had just got up from. 

Victor scooted down and Beverly stood by while Patrick adjusted the boy at an angle against the arm of the couch. 

"Loosen up," Patrick instructed. "Yeah, that's better." He then turned to Beverly and guided her down into Victor's lap.

Beverly resisted, but Patrick forced her down and pushed her by her waist flush against Victor's chest. Beverly could feel the boy's heart beating wildly and, when Patrick brought Victor's arms around her waist, Beverly could tell he was trembling a little. 

_...he really **is** shy,_ Beverly marveled. 

Patrick positioned the two teens' legs up onto the cushions. He made it look like they were lying on the couch with Beverly in Victor's arms--he made it like they were a couple. 

"There you go!" Patrick praised. He snapped their photo and Beverly wanted to die. "Now kiss her cheek." 

Beverly's heart was racing too at that point. She wasn't scared or even uncomfortable anymore, she was just embarrassed at having an audience. Victor's body was warm and he smelled much better than Patrick, and when he kissed her cheek Beverly's stomach fluttered pleasantly.

 _Guess that crush is back in full effect,_ she realized. 

"Beautiful," Patrick said over the click of the camera. He let the photos drop onto the floor and captured the pair from multiple angles. "Look up at me." 

Patrick had them sit up again, with Victor holding her in his lap. This time he told the pair to kiss on the lips. 

Beverly turned her head to the left just as Victor bent his head down to the right. The boy pecked her lips briefly like he'd done the day before and, as soon as the camera clicked, Victor broke away. 

"Again." Patrick demanded. "I wanna' see some tongue, Vicky, come on." 

_God, he's so disgusting_ , Beverly sneered, but Victor was willing to oblige. 

She felt Victor's tongue breach the seam of her lips on his second--technically fourth or fifth--kiss with her. Beverly opened her mouth and let him in. She started kissing him back and felt his arms tighten around her waist. Victor lost his nervous edge for just a moment as he pulled back to look her in the eyes. Like yesterday, he descended on her with slightly more confidence. 

Patrick ruined it when he creepily whispered, "Yeah, that's more like it." 

Victor and Beverly tore away from each other with equally reddened faces, which only made Patrick laugh. 

"Go get on the bed," He directed. "Not you, Vicky, you're done for the day--go take five." 

_Lucky,_ Beverly thought of the retreating blonde. 

Victor walked over to the door and then opened it, exiting the room and leaving her alone with Patrick Hockstetter. 

_Wonderful,_ she frowned. Then again, it wasn't as if the boy would've been much help to her. 

Patrick settled Beverly onto the middle of the bed and told her to lie on her back. Apparently that wasn't good enough because he kept criticizing her posture. 

"Put your elbows on the mattress and lift up your knees--not that high, just--don't look like that, you look like you just shit the bed--"

Patrick climbed onto the bed so that he could physically position her again. He muttered to himself as he adjusted her the way that he wanted. 

"Bite your lip," He told her. "Just a little, like this--" His demonstration was extremely unsettling but Beverly did her best to imitate him. 

In the end she was photographed all over the bed while wearing less and less clothing. Patrick had even taken some pictures of her wearing only accessories--the choker, gloves, and garters. It was humiliating. 

_...but not completely,_ she was loathe to admit. The way he'd kept commenting on how pretty she looked had really stuck with her. It was perverted of him but it made her feel good about herself in a way she really hated. 

"Well, I gotta go, Sweetheart." Patrick eventually stated. "Gotta get back to work and drop the twink back off at school." 

"What are you gonna' do with them?" Beverly almost didn't want to know. "The pictures?" 

"Ask Henry." Patrick grinned. "It was his idea."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this too out of character for Richie, Beverly, or Henry? I just thought it'd be interesting to throw them together since there's barely any stories with Beverly/Richie or Henry/Beverly. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this story so far and whether or not you'd like for me to continue! Thanks <3


	6. Compromised

One of the perks of having a car in high school--besides the boost it afforded one's reputation--was being able to eat lunch off campus. It'd been a daily tradition for Bill, Stan, Richie, and Eddie to spend their half-hour break at one of the nearby fast food joints. Today was no different. 

Then again, it kinda was. 

Instead of wolfing down his food and stealing bits of everyone else's, instead of cracking jokes and fighting with Eddie and Bill over control of the radio--Stan could never bring himself to care since he'd have his nose buried in his ornithology book--Richie spent his break in relative silence. He couldn't stop thinking about Beverly Marsh. 

As Bill parked the Lexus in the school's side lot, Richie got out of the backseat and heard a car coming up from behind: it was the Firebird. 

The yellow car flew up the street and swerved into the lot, almost hitting a couple of kids in the process. As the engine stalled, the front passenger side door opened Victor Criss got out. No sooner had both his feet touched the ground than did the car squeal backwards in reverse and peel off into the distance.

Victor locked eyes with Richie and he hurriedly looked away. As he rushed to get inside of the school building, something fell out of his jacket pocket and fluttered to the ground. It looked like a piece of paper or a napkin, it was square-cut and white. Richie frowned. 

While Bill and Stan and Eddie went their separate ways, hoping to beat the bell for fifth period, Richie went over to the object and picked it up. He turned it over in his and inspected it. What he saw made his dark brown eyes widen in surprise. 

It was a picture of a girl with strawberry-pink tinged white skin, soft red lips, and the clearest blue eyes he'd ever seen. The girl was obviously Beverly Marsh, though she looked a lot different than Richie remembered. 

A lot less clothed. 

The picture was of her on her knees on a white-sheeted bed, wearing nothing but a satin white choker. She was looking up into the camera and there was someone else's hand cradling the side of her face. It was impossible to tell whose hand it was, but the person had a tattoo on their inner wrist of a flaming satanic pitchfork. 

_What the fuck?!_

Richie looked at the doors of the school that Victor had ducked into and wondered what the boy was doing with that picture. He had no idea where it could have come from or why Victor now had it, or what was on the other photographs in Victor's pocket. 

Based on Beverly's absence and Victor's sketchy behavior, Richie had to wonder if she'd been photographed against her will. He wondered if they had her locked away somewhere and were pimping her out. 

_No, no way, that's crazy,_ Richie thought, but why else would Victor have her picture? 

_Maybe he stole it--could be why he's been acting so dodgy. Maybe Vic's more of a creep than I thought,_ Richie deduced. _He's been hanging with Bowers and Hockstetter for so long he probably picked up on their psychotic tendencies._

In the end Richie decided to pocket the photo and head inside as well.

* * *

Beverly changed back into her own clothes after Patrick left. She'd gone back over to the couch and had laid there curled up until Henry arrived. That happened to be around eight 'o'clock in the evening.   
When he opened the door, Beverly sat up and looked towards it. Henry stepped inside and turned on the light, then looked over at where she was sitting on the couch. He frowned and narrowed his eyes and Beverly's stomach dropped. 

_Oh God, what now? What did I do?_

Henry said nothing as he continued to stand in the doorway and stare at her. She frowned in confusion and he crossed his arms over his chest. It almost looked like he was waiting for something--

_"If you refuse or forget, I'll put you over my fuckin' knee."_

Beverly's eyes widened a little and she got up from the couch. Awkwardly she crossed the room and approached Henry Bowers. He stared at her the whole way and, when she got closer, he lowered his arms and took hold of her waist. He pulled her close to his chest and lifted a brow expectantly. 

Beverly looked away.

 _Just do it and get it over with,_ she urged herself.

Beverly turned back towards Henry and felt intimidated; he was staring at her so intently and his dark, flinty eyes seemed to burn right through her. She laid her hands on his shoulders, stood on the balls of her bare feet, then weakly pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back immediately and moved with much more strength and force. His arms wrapped around her smaller frame like a vice as he deepened the kiss and she felt a traitorous rush of anticipation. When Henry broke away the both of them were breathing more shallowly than before. He reached over to shut and lock the door, then cradled her face and kissed her again. 

"Listen," He murmured with his head bowed over hers. "I have had...a shitty fuckin' day." 

Great, Beverly thought, fearing he'd take it out on her. 

"I swear, I almost killed someone." Henry continued. 

She had no idea whether or not he was exaggerating. 

"But that's okay because tonight," Henry kissed her slowly, fueling the fire that was building in her gut. "Tonight you're gonna' make up for all that." 

Henry groped the sides of her waist and started kissing the side of her neck. Beverly had gone from a little aroused to absolutely aching in a matter of mere seconds. She latched onto his shoulders and closed her eyes. Of course that made it worse because now all she could focus on was his tongue and teeth against her throat. 

Henry bent and picked her up. He straddled her legs on either side of his upper body and carried her over towards the bed. Henry pulled off his hat and she felt a wave of deja vu while watching him tear off his shirt and belt and every other scrap of clothing. 

"Don't just fucking sit there," Henry growled while undressing. "Take that shit off." 

Beverly's heart pounded as she took off her shorts. She still had on the lingerie set from earlier since it was cleaner and newer than her own underwear. When Henry saw it he reached out and stayed her hand. 

"Fuck," he whispered. "Leave those on." He scooped her into his arms and moved her up near the headboard. 

While he positioned himself above her, stroking his dick, Beverly asked him about the pictures. At first he looked confused, but when she told him what Patrick had said about the whole thing being his idea, Henry flashed a smirk. 

"Why did you tell him to take them?" Beverly asked. "What are you gonna' do with them?" 

"Nothing." Henry told her simply. "As long as you behave. If you piss me off or try to run away, I'll make a shit-ton of copies and post them all over town." Henry added darkly, "I'll even slide a few in your daddy's mailbox, let him see how much of a slut his baby girl is." 

Beverly blanched. 

The thought of her dad seeing those pictures was beyond mortifying, it was downright scary. He was the type to fly off the handle whenever she wore even a moderately-tight shirt or pair of jeans, seeing her in lingerie would probably cause him to have an absolute meltdown. 

_He might just straight-up kill me,_ she feared. 

Henry laughed. "Like I said, so long as you're good I'll keep those pictures between you and me. And Patrick. And Vic since he's in a few of them." 

Beverly looked away. 

Henry buried a kiss in the crook of her neck and shoulder and reached downwards. He threaded his fingers through hers and laid her hands on either side of her head. With one of his knees he nudged her leg to the side, making room for himself between her thighs. Beverly flinched. 

"Still sore, huh?" Henry smirked knowingly. "I can't wait to stretch that pussy out again." 

It was a filthy thing for him to say and yet she couldn't wait for him to touch her again, she just wanted him to make her feel good. 

Henry rubbed his erection against the seat of her lacy underwear. He squeezed her hands in his and stared into her eyes.

"Tell me how bad you want it," He whispered. "Tell me how bad you want my dick." 

Beverly looked away and suddenly Henry stopped. He moved his dick away from her body and left her feeling painfully bereft. She turned back and saw that Henry was silently laughing at her--she could see it in his glittering black eyes. 

"Tell me," he implored her again with a sly smirk.

Beverly's lust outweighed all her other emotions. In fact, she couldn't even think of anything other than how badly she wanted Henry inside of her. 

She quietly whispered, "I want it." 

"What's that?" 

"I want it," Beverly's voice was thick with shame. 

Henry still refused to touch her. "You want what?" 

Beverly's expression was pained. She forced herself to say, "...your dick." 

"What about my dick?" Henry grinned and tilted his head. 

Beverly hesitated. While she did, Henry started in on her neck again, kissing and sucking at her skin until she whimpered and rutted her hips against empty air. 

"I want it," She said in a desperate sigh. "I want your dick." 

Henry bit down on her neck and she yelped. His dick returned to its previous place and she started grinding up against it. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck but Henry kept them pinned against the pillows. 

"Tell me something else," He growled against her throat. "Talk to me." 

_About what? What am I supposed to say?_ She said the first thing she could think of, the only thing on her mind: 

"I want you to fuck me." She instantly felt like a whore. 

Henry's response was also instantaneous; he closed his teeth around her neck so hard she let out a pained cry. At the same time he pressed his erect length against her clit and stroked upwards towards her stomach. The sensation turned her cry into a satisfied moan. 

Despite her soreness, Beverly hooked her legs as tightly as she could around his torso. Henry stroked his cock against her clit and she rolled her hips up in time with his movements. 

"That's right, baby," Henry's voice was like velvet in her ear. "Get that pussy nice and wet for me." 

Beverly started moaning; the closer she got to coming, the louder her voice rang out in the room.

Before she could actually finish, Henry stopped and pulled down her underwear. He lowered them to her knees and then looked down at her slippery cunt. Henry slid a finger up her seam and then licked his fingertip clean. He took her panties off the rest of the way and tossed them to the floor, then settled back on top of her. 

Henry took a moment to smooth Beverly's hair away from her flushed forehead and cheeks. He panted and gazed down in her eyes while easing his dick inside of her. Beverly noticed that it didn't hurt as much as before. When he bottomed out, the girl's eyes fluttered shut and she let out a low sigh. 

"I'm feeling better already," Henry whispered in her ear. 

He pumped his dick in and out and the girl's cunt clenched down around it. Henry brought his hand up to wrap around her throat and his kisses turned open-mouthed and sloppy. 

The sound of it all made Beverly feel so dirty and low but feverishly horny as well. She kissed Henry back until he tightened his fist around her neck with both hands--even that felt good, though. 

Henry looked enraged as he fucked her harder and harder. His narrowed eyes looked pitch black and he was baring his teeth like a snarling dog. He looked the same way he did whenever he wanted to beat someone to a bloody pulp. The fact that he wasn't doing that to her--the fact that he had chosen to kiss her and fuck her instead made her feel...bizarrely special. 

She started to come. 

The girl's eyes fluttered shut and her kiss-softened lips fell open as the height of her orgasm pulsed through her. She knew that Henry was staring at her but she couldn't bring herself to care. 

Suddenly she couldn't breathe. 

Henry had cut off her airflow and was about to come--she could feel how close he was. The mattress strained underneath them as he roughly slammed into her again and again. Beverly's head started to swim as she weakly grasped at Henry's wrists and forearms. 

Henry didn't stop choking her until he started to come. By that time she was coming again, too; she had no idea she could come back to back until Henry had released her and all that air came rushing into her lungs. She heard his pleasured groans mix with her high-pitched gasping breaths as they chased the remnants of their shared orgasm. 

Henry got up and brought her along with him. He carried her to the bathroom with his dick still inside of her and turned on the light. Beverly shut her eyes kept her arms wrapped around his neck so she wouldn't fall. She heard and felt Henry yank back the shower curtain and then step into the tub. He lowered her onto her feet and then reached beyond her to turn on the water. Beverly unlatched her bra and tossed it onto the edge of the sink. After a couple of seconds Henry turned the middle knob and water came spraying down out of the shower-head. 

Beverly shivered and stepped backwards, towards the faucets.

She watched as Henry closed his eyes, raised his chin, and let the water rain down on him from head to toe. It slid down his arms and legs and his hair-covered chest. It also poured over his semi-flaccid dick and washed the remnants of sweat and semen down the drain. 

Henry opened his eyes and looked down at her. 

He pulled her towards him by the wrists and then reached over for a towel that hung on a rack above the commode. He wet it and lathered it with a bar of soap on the ledge of the tub, then started scrubbing Beverly down. 

It was so weird.

When he'd washed her all over, he handed her the towel with an expectant look. Beverly knew what he wanted and started to do the same to him. When she got to his lower body she had to kneel down and his expression was highly amused. 

_...I'm taking a shower with Henry freaking Bowers;_ the thought kept circling her mind like the water that was circling the drain. The fact that he didn't say a word to her only made things even more surreal. 

The two of them rinsed off and then Henry shut off the water. He stepped out of the tub and went to grab a towel. Beverly wrung out her hair and combed it into a loose braid with her fingers. 

"Here you go," Henry handed her the large white towel, standing across from her dripping wet. 

She took it and began to pat herself dry. Henry watched and already looked like he wanted to tear into her again. Beverly wrapped the towel around her and secured it under her arms. Henry smirked and got himself another. 

"I'm gonna' step out for a little while," He casually informed her. "Try to get some rest. When I get back I'll bring a surprise for you."

* * *

Henry's 'surprise' came just a few hours later. Beverly had gotten dressed in her original clothes again and had laid down on the bed, on top of the sheets. She couldn't quite fall into a deep sleep, due to the night-time chill that penetrated the room and because of the fact that she hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. She basically just turned from side to side in brief periods of fitful slumber. 

Beverly groggily opened her eyes when she heard someone turning the lock on the other side of the door. In the time it took them to open it, she raised herself up at the head of the bed and brought her legs up in front of her. 

"Knock, knock." 

Her heart dropped at the sound of Patrick Hockstetter's voice. 

_What is **he** doing here? _

A glance at the digital alarm clock told her it was the middle of the night, just after 3am. She sat on high alert as Patrick, Henry, and lastly Victor came into the room. They didn't turn on the light. Instead, they started stripping their clothes off. 

_Oh no,_ Beverly started to become afraid.

Patrick and Henry descended on her like wolves; they climbed onto the bed in various states of undress--Patrick was shirtless and Henry was down to his boxer briefs. She didn't see Victor but assumed he'd found some corner of the room to post up in. 

"Told you I'd bring you a surprise," Henry crooned. 

He sounded drunk. The way Patrick was giggling made her think that he was drunk as well. 

_Then again, that might just be his personality,_ Beverly thought. 

Either way the two of them seemed to be in a good mood. Henry cozied up to her on the left side of the bed and Patrick knelt over her on the right. 

"Listen," Henry spoke. "I know what your problem is, Red. I do. I do." 

While he wasn't slurring his words, he was speaking much more slowly. And from his close proximity Beverly could smell alcohol; he'd definitely been drinking. 

"Your problem is," Henry continued. "You got slutted out by your own father and that pretty much ruined you for life." 

Beverly felt deeply attacked. It wasn't even the truth and yet it made her feel two inches tall. She looked down at her lap and felt her face start to burn, felt tears spring to her eyes. Henry lifted her chin and directed her gaze back towards his. His expression almost seemed sympathetic. 

"Daddy just couldn't keep his hands off you, could he?" Henry whispered. "Not that I can blame him." His eyes dropped down to her lips. 

Henry lowered his head and kissed her. She could taste the liquor on his tongue. It didn't surprise her when her stomach started tingling and her body felt warm all over--she was getting used to the effect his kisses had on her by now.

 _That's not good_ , she vaguely realized.

Henry pulled back just an inch or two from her face. "Didn't I tell you I've been watching you? I know you like to run off when your daddy isn't looking. I also know why you came running to us, little Red." 

"I didn't--I wasn't..." Beverly struggled to explain herself. "That day in the junkyard was just a misunderstanding, I wasn't trying to--" 

"Shhh," Henry covered her mouth with his hand and touched his forehead to hers. 

She had no choice but to stare up into those eyes of his. Patrick snaked his arms around her waist from the side and she got that feeling again, that feeling of being completely surrounded, of being overwhelmed. 

"You just wanted us to notice you, huh Red?" Henry asked. "You just wanted a little attention." Henry's lips curled in an evil smile. "Well, baby girl, we'll give you some goddamn attention." 

Patrick cackled in her ear. 

"We'll give you our _undivided_ attention," Henry promised. 

He removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth, laying kiss after heady kiss against her lips. Patrick kissed her below her ear and groped her breasts through her shirt. 

"You're our girl," Henry told her. "You belong to us and we're gonna' take care of you. We're gonna give you just what you need." 

Henry reached down and pulled off her underwear. Patrick pulled off her shirt. They moved at the same time and made her feel helpless, like she had no control over what was happening. 

Before she knew it she was naked again and on her back, with Henry straddling her waist and Patrick sitting on her chest. She tried to push him off of her but Patrick locked both her wrists in one of his hands and held them off to the side. With the other hand he began undoing his belt. 

The eagerness in his eyes was terrifying. He looked straight-up demonic. It could've been a trick of the light, since the only light in the room came from the slats in the boarded-up window, but Beverly had a feeling that wasn't the case. She had a feeling it was just his evil spirit showing through. 

She couldn't see Henry but she could feel him moving around on top of her. She definitely felt him rub his dick against her. 

"Alright, sweetheart," Patrick spoke breathlessly above her. "Make it good for me. I waited all day for this." 

Beverly clenched her fists in his grip as Patrick pushed unrelentingly into her mouth. He didn't stop until the tip of his dick touched the back of her throat and even then he kept forcing it. 

Beverly's eyes narrowed and watered as she focused on taking him in without throwing up. Her effort earned her an appreciative groan from Patrick and, to her relief, he raised up off of her. He buried his knees into the pillows on either side of her head and leaned the palm of his free hand against the wall behind the bed. With his weight off of her upper body, she was able to even out her breathing and cope with Patrick's brutal pace. 

But then Henry's dick breached her inner walls.

Beverly choked on Patrick's dick, momentarily disrupting the rhythm he'd built up. Neither Patrick nor Henry gave her a second to recover and for a second she blindly panicked. She tugged at her wrists but Patrick refused to let her go. She then turned her head to try to break away from his dick but he held both sides of her head and anchored her in place. 

"Relax," He told her. "You're okay, sweetheart, just breathe." 

With her hands free, she latched onto his forearms and did as he said. It was easier said than done but she was able to calm herself down again. Not only that, she started getting aroused. 

Henry put her legs on his shoulders and started fucking her in earnest. She'd never felt him that deeply before and was wholly unprepared for how good it felt. She felt him stroke her ankles and lick his tongue up and down the soles of her feet and she moaned around Hockstetter's cock. 

Patrick loved that. 

He put both hands on the wall and started swinging his hips towards her face. Beverly angled her head back against the pillows and relaxed her jaw, she let his dick slide in and out of her mouth with ease. The only pressure came from her rubbing her tongue around the bottom and sides of it. 

Henry and Patrick somehow managed to stagger their movements so that when one pulled out, the other pushed in and vice versa. It was enough to make Beverly's cunt tighten and throb. 

To the sound of Henry's primal grunting and Patrick's guttural groans Beverly started to come. Patrick wasn't far behind, but instead of coming down her throat he pulled out and shot his load over her chest and neck and chin. He then swung his knee around and collapsed against the wall beside her head. 

When Henry saw the mess Patrick made his eyes darkened and he pulled out, too. Henry's come splashed onto her stomach and rib cage. He let her legs fall off of his shoulders and then sat back on his heels until he could catch his breath. 

Beverly stared up at the ceiling as her pleasure faded and wondered, _what am I doing? What is this?_  
She didn't feel like herself anymore. Perhaps because of her post-coitus clarity the girl was beginning to have doubts about what kind of person she truly was. 

Henry climbed on top of her and put a temporary end to her thoughts. He lowered his head and started lapping at her stomach and chest--he was licking the come off of her. Patrick leaned over on his hands and knees and did the same. Beverly wished she could say she remained disgusted but all her feelings of self-reflection had totally abandoned her. She was left with a slowly blooming pool of heat in her belly.

Henry and Patrick switched places, and Patrick flipped her onto her stomach. Henry bent his legs at the knee on either side of her head as Beverly leaned her weight onto her elbows. Her arms were shaking and she was starting to feel weak, not to mention light-headed. 

_...I really need something to eat_ , she thought, but she was scared to bring it up. 

Henry threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled his dick back out. Behind her, Patrick was sliding his come-slick cock along the underside of her cunt. The tip of his curved dick brushed her belly button and the girl shuddered. 

"Here we go," Henry smirked. "Round 2." 

Henry had her start by jacking him off. She wrapped her hand around the base of his dick and began stroking it up and down. It was still slick with come and sweat so it glided easily against her palm. Henry leaned back on his hands and let out a grinning sigh.

"Fuck, she's tight," Patrick hissed as he forced his way in. 

His nails pierced into her hips painfully but Beverly didn't care. She arched her back so his dick could fit the rest of the way inside. Patrick raked his nails along her curved spine and she let out a sigh of her own.

"She liked that," Henry chuckled. "Do it again." 

Patrick fucked into her and scratched up and down her back. Beverly's body tingled all the way through. 

_Fuck, that feels amazing._

She pushed back against Patrick and he groped her ass in response. Henry started bucking into her hand. His dick was turning from tan to pink to red as she started to lick it and suck on the tip. 

_...I think this might be my favorite position._

She weathered Patrick's punishing pace with private delight; she hid her raw moans by taking all eight inches of Henry's dick down her throat. Henry tensed and started cussing under his breath while she worked him over.   
Henry grasped her shoulders and held her steady so he could thrust upwards into her mouth. He had that look on his face that she was beginning to associate with an approaching climax. 

"Take it," He growled when he started to come. "Take my load, you little bitch. Fuckin' swallow it down." 

Beverly used one of her hands to start rubbing her clit. Henry kept coming hard into her mouth and Beverly took it all like a good little slut. She kept touching Patrick's dick as she clumsily fingered herself.

Patrick knocked her hand out of the way and started pinching and rubbing her clit. He was so rough and callous with it. Beverly cried out and wasn't sure if the noise was one of pleasure or pain. 

Henry brought her face upwards and thumbed over her bottom lip, then pushed inside. Beverly automatically sucked on his finger and liked how his eyes narrowed and darkened. 

Patrick abruptly leaned forward and draped his body over Beverly's, all so he could start fucking her into the mattress. He dropped his head between Beverly's cheek and Henry's leg. It didn't seem to bother him that he was basically having sex in Henry's lap at that point. 

_I_ _f he moved his head a little bit, he could start sucking Henry off;_ the image of Henry's dick in Patrick's mouth while Henry pulled on Patrick's hair sent her over the edge. 

She gasped and then bit down on the closest thing to her mouth, which happened to be Henry's inner thigh. 

"The fuck?!" He yelled and tried to pry her off. 

Beverly was immovable while in the throes of her orgasm. She hadn't meant to, but she broke through the skin of his white flesh and started tasting coppery blood on her tongue. 

_...now I see why they like doing this,_ she thought as she lapped up the blood. 

Henry's grip on her hair loosened now that she'd begun licking and kissing the wound she'd just inflicted. 

Patrick had seen and heard the whole thing and he couldn't hold out any longer after that; he shoved his cock all the way inside of Beverly and bore down on her with his full weight. She could barely breathe with her head face-down in the mattress and Patrick wouldn't let up until he'd finished ejaculating. 

"Goddamn," He huffed, and then started to laugh. 

Beverly wriggled and heard Henry snap, "Get the fuck off her, dumbass, you're gonna' smother her!" 

"Like I haven't done that before," Patrick snickered. 

Beverly tried not to think about what he meant by that. After all, she'd just let him fuck and come inside of her, she was in no position to judge, not anymore. Whatever moral superiority she'd had over the likes of Henry and Patrick had been sufficiently diminished the moment she given in to her base desire. She'd allowed herself to become completely compromised. 

* * *


	7. What Lurks Below

Beverly woke up feeling completely exhausted. Her whole body felt limp and the muscles in her arms and legs were suffering from the sort of after-burn she used to get after a strenuous day in gym class. She was starving and her head was pounding and her mouth felt sticky and dry. 

In short, she felt terrible. 

Her usual solution was to get washed up and make herself a nice hot cup of tea with a drop of honey, a side of jam on toast, and maybe a salt and pepper scrambled egg. 

_That sounds amazing,_ she thought, already able to taste it on her tongue. 

Then she opened her eyes fully and remembered where she was and just how she'd gotten there. All thoughts of a peaceful morning were put to an end as she instead began to ruminate on the things that'd taken place just a few hours ago. Beverly couldn't say that she was a victim in all this, not anymore. Somewhere along the line she'd become an unwilling participant in her own desecration and, in her mind, the effects were irreversible. Not to mention unforgivable. 

_Henry Bowers is the biggest bully in all of Derry, he made life hell for a lot of people, including Bill--oh God, what would Bill Denbrough think if he knew I'd done all this stuff with his sworn enemy?_

Beverly couldn't be 100% sure, but she thought she remembered Henry even targeting Bill's six-year-old brother once or twice. She felt like such a traitor. 

_If the tables were turned, how would I feel if Bill hooked up with that witch Greta Bowie?_

She grimaced at the very thought of such a union, then felt even more guilty. She wished that she could undo her actions in the past few days, she wished that she'd put up more of a fight. At the very least she wished that she hadn't derived so much pleasure from it all. 

_Slut, slut, slut_ , she chanted in her head in the voices of her classmates and peers. 

Beverly rolled from her back onto her side and was about to get up--

"Where are you sneaking off to?" 

Henry climbed over her body and settled down beside her, blocking her intended path out of the bed. He was just as naked as she was, she quickly realized; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his broad, black-haired chest. One of his legs wrapped around hers and she felt his abdomen and groin meet with her own. 

"Morning." Henry greeted in his low, cool voice. "Some night, huh?" He smirked and groped her backside. 

Beverly colored and looked away. She couldn't do that so well from such a close angle. Henry rolled on top of her and interlocked his fingers through hers above her mane of red hair. He kept his body pressed against hers and kissed her on the mouth. 

_Now is the time to put up a fight,_ she urged herself, but she did nothing. She just laid there and let Henry push kiss after heated kiss onto her pliant red lips. Henry took her inaction as encouragement and started kissing her neck and shoulder. He pulled back and looked her over with intrigue.

Henry let go of one of her hands so he could brush his fingers along a tender spot on her throat. He surveyed the rest of her body with curious, prodding touches and Beverly winced and flinched occasionally. Henry's expression darkened and a look of unbridled satisfaction developed in his eyes. 

"There's bruises all over your body, little whore." Henry whispered against her lips. "Can you feel them? Do they hurt?" 

Beverly stared at him in silence. 

"You might as well get used to it," Henry told her. "Me and Hockstetter, we like to play rough. But you know all about that, now don't you?" 

Beverly knew what he was hinting at; she'd bitten him last night. She wondered if there was a mark on Henry as well.

 _Probably, I made him bleed,_ she remembered. Along with the memory came a ripple of heat deep down in her gut.

She wasn't the only one affected--Henry's dick had twitched and was steadily stirring to life. 

"You surprised me last night," Henry continued. He mouthed her earlobe. "I mean, I knew you wanted to get fucked but I had no idea you were so hard up for it." 

"I'm not," Beverly denied, but Henry just laughed quietly in her ear. 

"I bet you loved sucking and fucking us both at the same time, didn't you?" He teasingly nipped at her shoulder. "Didn't you?" 

The answer was yes but Beverly kept that to herself. 

"You're dick-crazy," Henry assessed with amused finality. "But don't worry, between Hockstetter and me you'll get all the dick you want, all the dick you can fuckin' handle." 

He pushed inside of her without preamble. 

Henry raised her legs and bent them at the knee, only now Beverly yelped and resisted; she wasn't as flexible as she'd been last night. Henry didn't seem to care. He hooked her ankles over his shoulders and started snapping his hips back and forth. Beverly tried to pull her legs free but Henry clutched her knees and just laughed in the face of her pained expression. 

That stung. 

Beverly turned her head to the side and forced herself not to cry. 

"Hey." Henry stroked her thighs up and down and said, "Look at me." 

She didn't want to disobey him. However, as she slowly dragged her eyes his way, she made it clear that she didn't want to look at him, either. 

Henry altered his pace; he started stroking her nice and deep and slow. The difference was like night and day; Beverly's discomfort faded away and her pleasure quickly mounted. Henry's cock hit her sweet spot and he kept sliding over it with agonizingly smooth movements. 

Beverly's lips parted quiet moans fell out, each one louder and longer than the last. She made the mistake of locking eyes with Henry and couldn't bring herself to look away. 

It made the experience intensely more intimate. 

"I love how you sound right now," Henry panted. "I love how your pussy feels, all wet and tight." 

"Henry," She whimpered and grasped at the sheets. "Uhn, Henry, please." 

"Yeah, baby, talk to me." He started fucking her harder and faster again. "Tell me what you want." 

"Please," she gasped. She was getting so close. "Please don't stop." 

"Don't stop?" 

"Please don't stop," She continued to beg. "Please keep fucking me, keep fucking me, daddy, please!" 

She couldn't believe the things she was saying. Henry had put the ideas in her head, now she was parroting them back as the lust and desire flooded her brain. Henry looked beyond pleased. 

"You want daddy to fuck you?" He taunted. 

"Yes," She desperately answered. 

"You want daddy to make you come?" His voice was harsh and raw. 

"Yes, make me come, daddy, please!" She breathlessly cried. 

Her heart was racing dangerously fast and she was burning up all over. She felt like if she didn't come in the next few seconds she'd explode. Henry was in much the same boat as he'd stopped talking and was now ramming into her with savage force. 

Beverly came with Henry's name on her lips, she called out for him over and over. He couldn't last another second after that--he erupted all over her insides. 

In his usual fashion he collapsed on top of her and cut her cries short with a searing kiss. Beverly kissed him back and moaned when he squeezed her shoulders and throat. He kept thrusting his dick in and out of her, kept pumping his load into her quivering cunt. 

Beverly lay there with Henry's weight on top of her, his head near her shoulder, her legs on either side of his torso, and her arms around his neck. She gazed blankly up at the ceiling and silently cried.

* * *

Getting dressed was turning out to be a pointless and repetitive task but Beverly did it anyway. She didn't bother with her original clothes, not because they were especially dirty or anything, but because she just felt as if she'd outgrown them in some way: she didn't feel like the same girl who'd first entered this house only days ago. 

Beverly wore instead the white underwear and thin slip dress. She went over to the mini-fridge and took out one of several pre-packaged ham and cheese sandwiches, the kind she saw being sold at gas stations. She also grabbed a Coke and sat on the couch to consume her first meal in several hours. 

Thinking about the things she'd done was too painful, so instead she just boxed up her memory of the events into a neat little compartment and pushed them to the back of her mind. She stared blankly at her knees as she chewed and swallowed and drank mechanically. 

She still couldn't get over her whole complacency with her situation. Yes her captors were bigger and stronger and more armed than she was, but she still should've put up some kind of effort to get away from them, not counting her first few attempts at running away. 

_That was just pathetic,_ she cynically critiqued. _If I just keep going along with whatever they tell me, they're gonna' think that I'm okay with everything they're doing to me, or that I like it_. 

Maybe that was true. No, that couldn't be true...? The fact that she couldn't definitively give an answer to even herself was a huge red flag. _I need to get the hell out of this house before I turn into someone I'm not, or before they do something even worse._

She threw away her trash and looked around the room in search of an escape. The window was boarded up so that was out, and so was the door that led out to the hall for obvious reasons. There was another door that she was only just now noticing. It was blocked by the couch. 

That could be their way of blocking a potential exit, she thought excitedly.   
Beverly pushed the couch out of the way and was thrilled when the knob turned easily in her hand. She stepped into a dark, dusty room and saw...clowns. 

A whole lot of them. 

The room was basically a shrine to them. There were face-painted characters everywhere in the form of portraits hanging on the walls and statues and figurines of all sizes. It was highly unsettling. Beverly looked past them and quickly determined that there was no viable exit in the side room, no windows or doors that she could find. She shut the door and moved the couch back in front of it. 

There was another door, the one on the end of the opposite wall to the right of the bathroom. Beverly went over to it, gripping the knob that was ice cold in her palm. She opened the door and was met with darkness, that and a cement wall. At her feet was a soot-covered staircase. 

Beverly hesitated. _What if something's down there?_ She didn't hear anything, nor could she see anything moving around. _Besides, I'm already in a dangerous situation, what would be the harm?_

There was a pervasive draft flowing up from the depths of the dark basement. Beverly shivered but began padding barefoot down the dusty stone steps. 

She held her arms wrapped tightly around herself and kept glancing back towards the open doorway. The light from the bedroom began to fade as she descended, but new light filtered in from a ground-level window along one of the basement's walls. Beverly paused on the last step and stared out at the room. 

First she saw a hook hanging from the low-level ceiling. Tied to the hook was a thick, sturdy rope with several knots spaced about eight to ten inches apart. The hook and the rope was positioned above a crumbling, stone-brick well in the middle of the room. Beverly shivered again and approached the well. 

While she walked she looked around at every corner of the basement. It was empty, devoid of any threats but also of anything that could possibly aid in her escape. Unfortunately the window was too high and too narrow for her to get out of, so that option was out, too. Beverly stood over the well and saw that the rope extended past a tunnel that was carved into the side of the underground surface. 

_Where does that tunnel lead?_

Beverly shivered again, then remembered something Bill Denbrough had said a long time ago. In fourth grade the DiCaprio doppelganger had given a class presentation about his dad's occupation, which happened to be working as an engineer at the Derry Department of Public Works. According to Bill's dad, there was an interconnected tunnel system running beneath the city of Derry, with their connection being the sewers. 

Beverly grimaced. 

_It's crazy that I even remember that; I spent most of that presentation staring at Bill's eyes,_ she blushed.

Bill was an enigma. He was extremely quiet and reserved, but that could've been a result of getting bullied for his stutter. She knew that he could draw very well--he'd won art contests at school--and he could play the piano as well as his mom. Sometimes, when she happened to catch his eye, he'd give her this crooked little smile that never failed to make her stomach flutter and her heart start to race. 

Thinking of Bill made her feel like there just might be some hope for her yet. Beverly turned to the well and reached for the rope. She gave it a couple of test yanks. 

The girl stepped onto the ledge of the well and balanced her weight on the rope, using the notched knots as footholds. Slowly she climbed down, down, down, and then crawled on her hands and knees onto the gritty stone surface of the frigid dark tunnel. 

She wished she had a flashlight. 

Suddenly she heard a noise from upstairs; it sounded like...it sounded like banging? Like someone was banging on the door of the room upstairs?

She rushed forward in a panic. Her knees got scraped not only on the rough floor, but also on the small stones and shards of rocks littering its surface. She ignored the pain and kept moving forward. 

_What is that light?_

There was a light coming from the other end of the tunnel. Beverly hoped it was a good sign and continued towards it. When she reached the end of the tunnel, she saw something that confused her. 

_Is that...Is that a circus trailer?_

The enormous caravan on wheels was parked in the middle of the underground, amidst a diameter of abandoned trash of all varieties. She noticed that the trash made up a sort of carpet all over the place, soaking up the water that flowed from some pipes along the walls. Beverly frowned and looked up. She saw that the light was coming from high above, from a grated opening that gave her a nice view of baby blue sky and puffy white clouds. 

Suddenly she heard a growling noise coming from the direction of the caravan. She frowned and scanned over its faded, grimy surface in search of a door or opening or any kind of way where an animal could've gotten inside. She saw a big, circular portrait of a clown painted on the side of the vehicle and, below it in fancy white letters, there was the words, _Pennywise the Dancing Clown!_

Beverly shuddered. 

She was impartial to clowns, but even she had to admit the white-skinned, lazy-eyed character was kind of creepy to look at. 

Beverly heard another rumbling growl and then the caravan began to rock back and forth on its wheels like something was moving around inside of it. It didn't sound like a regular animal. For some reason she felt like it was something else, something...evil. Pure evil. 

The caravan lurched violently. 

Beverly's eyes widened and she stumbled back onto her butt. She turned and hurried back the way that she'd come. 

While it was true she was afraid of getting caught trying to escape, she considered it to be the lesser of two evils. She'd much rather deal with Henry Bowers and his gang than whatever was in that caravan.

* * *

Beverly Marsh missed another day of school. If they weren't in the same homeroom, Richie wasn't sure he would've even noticed her consecutive absences but...he was, and he did.   
And he was worried. 

His mind cycled through her screaming Sunday afternoon, the image of her bike overturned near the alley, and her empty desk. He kept seeing and hearing these things every time wasn't actively engaging with the world around him, and sometimes these thoughts would cut into his ability to concentrate on his schoolwork or his friends.  
For instance, Stan was shaking his shoulder with a concerned look on his usually placid face. 

"What's that, Stanny?" Richie blinked. 

He'd been staring off to the side of the school parking lot, where the bike rack was. Beverly's bike was obviously missing. She wasn't coming over to unlock it and ride home. 

Richie grimaced.

"You look strange," Stanley observed. "You've been acting strangely, too." 

Richie scoffed and said, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not acting strange." 

_Great going, Tozier, you sound sooo convincing there,_ he thought. The fact that he was off his comeback game was yet another sign of how much this situation with Beverly was bothering him. 

He was quiet as he got into the passenger's seat of Mrs. Denbrough's Lexus. Bill got in the front seat and, when Richie buckled up and glanced over at his friend, he saw his own anxieties mirrored in Bill's blue eyes. They didn't say a word, but both of them were thinking about Beverly, and how she wasn't at school that day. 

Bill ferried his friends home one by one, starting with Stan. They had to cut through Neibolt Street to get to Eddie's place, which meant they'd have to pass by that creepy house that Richie really hated. 

Bill slowed the car to a stop. 

"What the fuck, man?" Richie frowned. "Why are we stopping?" 

Bill didn't speak as he parked the car alongside an empty lot. He got out and, after a sigh, Richie got out as well. 

_Yeah, this is what we need right now._

Richie followed Bill across the street, about ten feet from the house. There on the side of the road was a bundle of navy blue fabric. Bill crouched and picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and then looked over at Richie with grave solemnity.

Eddie opened the backseat door and stepped out, looking from Bill to Richie. His brow lifted and he threw up his hands. 

"Somebody wanna' tell me what the hell we're doing here?" Eddie turned to Bill. "What even _is_ that? Why are you touching some dirty, disgusting thing you found on the side of the--" 

"Look." Bill intoned, showing his friends the white name-tag that was embroidered on the front of the navy blue jacket. 

Eddie came over to get a closer look. When Richie deciphered the black cursive lettering, his blood ran cold. 

"Marsh." Eddie read aloud. "So what?" 

"Sssso it belongs to Buh-Beverly." Bill explained. "It's her dad's work jacket, but she wears it sometimes." 

Richie knew that, too. If he were being honest, Richie thought it was kind of cute on her, the way it dwarfed her small frame like a little kid playing dress-up. He was disturbed to see the jacket so carelessly discarded. 

_That isn't a good sign,_ he knew. 

Bill obviously agreed because he clutched the jacket in his whitening fists and said resolutely, "S-sssomething happened to her. Something bad." 

"Why would you think that?" Eddie's round eyes grew fretful. 

Bill replied, "She missed two days of school out the buh-blue; that's not like her. And now her jacket turns up near this hhhuh-huh-house." Bill glanced at said house and said, "She ccccould be in there right now. She could be hurt or trrrr-trapped or scuh-scared." 

"So what, you wanna' go in there?" Richie blurted. "Bill, you can't be serious! I mean, even if she is inside--which she's probably not--what could we possibly do to help her? This place is dangerous. Whoever brought her here could be dangerous, too." 

"Wait, what do you mean by that?" Eddie balked. "Somebody brought her here? As in they _kidnapped_ her?!" 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Richie hadn't meant to let that slip. He'd been trying to reassure his friends--and himself--not work them up even more. 

Bill was definitely worked up now. He narrowed his eyes and lifted an expectant brow at Richie, subtly imploring him to explain himself. 

Richie sighed and said, "The other day--when we were at the store--I found her bike in an alley. I think...I think she got taken or something. Possibly by Bowers or Hockstetter--" 

"Seriously, Richie?!" Bill fumed. "Why didn't you ssssay something?" 

"I thought it was nothing!" Richie defensively cried. "I wasn't even sure what happened!" 

"Guys, look!" Eddie was staring at and point to the ground: there were fresh tread marks on the road and grass near the Neibolt house.

"Fuck," Richie swore under his breath. 

Bill frowned and stared up at the menacing black house before saying without fault, "We have to go in there." 

Richie wanted to gnash his teeth. Eddie's cries of protest reached a panicked crescendo and Bill began walking through the open gates, up the path to the house's front porch. 

_Annnd he's really doing this. Fan-fucking-tastic._

Richie told Eddie, "Go wait in the car. Keep watch in case shit goes south or someone pulls up." 

Eddie looked nervous but the fifteen year old nodded and headed back to the silver Lexus. Richie turned and followed Bill into the darkened house. 

_This is the stupidest, craziest thing he's done yet,_ Richie thought, but as usual he had his best friend's back. 

He and Bill stood side by side and surveyed the dilapidated house. 

"Stinks like shit in here." 

Bill shot Richie a look that screamed, _'Nah, really? You sure it doesn't smell like roses?'_

Richie covered his mouth with the top of his striped shirt and began to look around for Beverly. 

_Or what's left of her,_ he thought morbidly.

"Beverly!" Bill called out. "B-Beverly Marsh?" 

He walked down a corridor leaving Richie to enter a sort of wrecked, cobweb-infested living room.

"Beverly?" Richie called out. "You in here, honey?" 

_God this place looks exactly like I imagined it would--like a haunted house crossed with a crack den._

Richie frowned at the sound of used needles chipping and cracking under the soles of his black and white Vans. 

Bill came back down the hall, shaking his head, and then went over towards the staircase. The boys continued to call for the teenage girl. The stairs creaked and groaned under their combined weight so they were careful not to linger too long on any one step. 

Their path was lit by a circular window cut into the side wall of the house's second story. On the second floor they were able to see just how moldy and repulsive the house really was. They also saw a series of rooms. Bill dragged Richie into each one, except for the locked one at the end of the long hall. 

Richie eyed the padlock warily. "Is it just me or does that look new?" 

Bill nodded with a sickened frown and then he banged his fist repeatedly on the door. 

"Beverly?!" He shouted. "B-buh-Beverly are you iiiin there?" 

There was no response. 

Bill jangled the padlock and said, "We nuh-nuh-need to get in there--" 

"How? You got some bolt cutters in those pants along with that big balls of yours, Billy?" Richie quipped. "We're not getting into that room. Besides, if Beverly was in there, don't you think she would've said something by now?" 

"Mmmmaaybe she can't," Bill argued. "Maybe she's knocked out or injured or tied up--" 

"--Or maybe she's just not in there." Richie insisted. "Maybe this place is like a mafia hideout and there's like a bunch of money and drugs in there. For all we know that could be why there's a lock on the door." 

Bill didn't look too convinced. 

"Either way, this is out of our hands." Richie stated. "We need to call the cops and let them deal with this. They can come over and bust down the door, do a whole investigation and shit." 

Bill reluctantly nodded and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're rrright."

"Of course I'm right!" Richie claimed. "Now can we please for the love of God get the fuck out of this creepy ass house? Any minute I just know some lunatic is gonna pop out like John Wayne Gacy and fuckin' murder us or something." 

Bill rolled his eyes, but he began walking back towards the staircase. Richie clapped a hand on his back and breathed a sigh of relief. His relief turned to guilt, though, once he saw the agitation still marring Bill's tanned features. 

Bill had a thing for Beverly. 

It was obvious. He wasn't the only one, but Bill _really_ liked her, as in he drew pictures of the girl in his sketchbook at school, romantic pictures of her pretty eyes and her sweet face surrounded by roses and flowers and all that. 

Of course Richie teased him about it. 

But it was understandable why Bill was so upset at what was going on. Richie wished he could put the other boy at ease but the truth was, he had no idea whether the little redhead was actually okay. 

_I really hope she's just taking some time to get away from school and her dad and stuff,_ he frowned. The thought of her in that padlocked room, trapped and unable to call for help was simply horrifying.

* * *


End file.
